Retrograde
by Envy-555
Summary: Ari Batchelder's only episodic memories from the past fourteen years are of his nearly a dozen deaths, but he's still alive and kicking. He tries not to think about all that, though, and prefers to stay focused on his work. Conveniently, his work today is Ivy, and she's pretty enthralling.
1. Call for Potential Employment Details

**CHAPTER 1 - CALL FOR POTENTIAL EMPLOYMENT DETAILS**

—

SUMMARY:

Ivy lives a pretty decent life for a homeless, mutant moonlighter. She's self-employed and her career fits her skill sets perfectly. Her hours are flexible, her wages are generous, and her commissions almost always allow for some creative freedom. Plus, she meets lots of interesting people. Usually, though, people don't try to "collect her" by any means necessary.

Ari Batchelder is the best in his field. He's highly skilled, thoroughly trained, goal-oriented, doggedly diligent, a little bit rakish, and ready to roll with the punches. He knows what he's good at, and he's good at what he knows. Unfortunately, Ari has lousy luck and some of the worst people skills you've ever seen. Then again, he's not technically a person.

—

Two days ago, I received a letter. That was pretty odd, considering my lack of permanent mailing address. The letter had just turned up in my backpack, looking as bland as could be—just a plain white envelope with my pen name printed on the outside in black ink.

At first, I thought foolishly that it might be a government solicitation. Perhaps the Census Bureau had finally realized I'd been dodging their data collectors? Of course, sneaking a letter into someone's bag without direct communication wasn't a particularly bureaucratic move, so it was easy to rule out that notion. Ignoring the discomfort of discovering foreign items on my person, I tore the envelope open. Surprisingly, the letter itself proved to be even more perplexing and disquieting than the appearance of the envelope—it simply read: "call for potential employment details," followed by a ten-digit number. Strange.

Later that night, I hunkered down in my favorite secluded computer carrel at the central public library and ran the phone number through a handful of online versions of the White Pages. No particularly useful information was tagged to that number; it was a mobile phone with the rare 312 enclave area code for a downtown chunk of Chicago. That was only noteworthy because 312 is one of the smallest serving area codes in the country. It covered a few square miles of the city at most. I didn't have a regular client base in that part of town and hadn't solicited business there recently either.

I hummed, gnawing on my bottom lip. This whole situation left me equal parts uneasy and inquisitive. Someone—a potential paying client—had violated my very meager personal space to slip me their number. They knew my pen name, which meant that they knew my current career orientation. They had to have gotten that information from one of my past clients since I operated almost entirely on word-of-mouth referrals. Therefore, they were probably a legitimate future sponsor of my financial success and I ought to at least call.

But how did they get the note into my bag without me noticing in the first place? If my bag wasn't on my back, it was very rarely out of sight. When it was out of sight, it was in a top-secret storage locker that I maintained. Also, how did this client find me physically? I didn't really "live" anywhere, hence the nonexistent permanent address. Who had told them about me and who knew where to look? Also, why the intense discretion in contact method? A paper note seemed so excessive—clients usually just called me directly; no one had ever asked _me_ to call _them_. Why would they not use the referral number I had my previous clients pass along?

Perhaps those questions would make good conversation starters, at least. _Sleep on it, _I decided, _and see how you're feeling in the morning. It's a problem for tomorrow-you._

I slept poorly.

Yesterday, after buying myself breakfast with the last of my available income, I made up my mind. On a cold, concrete bench in a quiet and empty public park, I pulled out my phone and punched in those digits, still feeling uneasy. The bitter December wind tossed my hair around like litter, and my generic sweatshirt did next to nothing to combat the chill. I stood up and started pacing to keep my body heat up as the number rang through, but no one answered. Instead, after about seven monotonous rings, it rolled over to the voicemail. I waited, hoping to at least learn the name of my new client. However, the usual "so and so could not take your call at this time" of a typical voicemail recording was replaced by something entirely different and intensely creepy—a feminine voice addressed me by name.

_This is new, _I reflected, snapped out of a cold stupor by the personalized message.

The woman offered me twenty-five percent of a specific target product's value, plus my standard commission fee. She gave me details to aid in my acquisition, including shift change times, camera rotation speeds, exit points, and cleaning schedules. She told me that if I was interested in her offer, I should acquire her requested item within the week and, upon completion, call this number again for an exchange location. She promised that if I succeeded in my task, she would gladly pass my pen name on to some of her acquaintances.

She never identified herself. Never shared how she'd found out about me. Never mentioned why she wanted this specific item. She never offered any explanation for her knowledge of the shop's workings. She just expected me to be interested in the value of her offer.

I sighed, sitting back down on the frozen park bench and thinking about her request. Unfortunately, I _was_ interested in the value of her offer, regardless of how sketchy the whole interaction felt.

So, today, I sat in the atrium of a seven-story mall on Michigan Avenue, nonchalantly drinking a coffee, eyeing the entrance to a trademark blue-stamped jewelry store, and thinking about a diamond and ruby necklace worth $115,000.

This whole commission left me suspicious, but genuinely and perhaps dangerously curious.

Honestly, it just made no sense. Who took the time to hire a thief to rob a mall shop of an item that was so generic you could order it online? Of course, it wasn't a cheap product and I wasn't plundering a sunglasses kiosk or an off-brand perfume store, but still. The mall? Based on the absurd level of discretion from this client, I would've expected my target to be an art museum or something comparable. Part of me was genuinely offended by this task—my skill set wasn't _so _remarkable, but I thought I'd become a bit more distinguished than your run-of-the-mill shoplifter.

Sulking and sipping my coffee, I considered, _you seriously need to think about rebranding._

Although truly weird and a bit insulting, the commission ought to at least be easy. Easy money, and good money at that. Twenty-five percent is usually not a great take, but if you're getting twenty-five percent of $115,000—which, by the way, is $28,750—plus your standard fee, you're doing pretty well for yourself.

All things considered, this job was a dream come true; it was an easy and entertaining way to pass an afternoon…but that's what made me so suspicious. I should've been grateful for the work, not questioning the client's circumspection and boring taste in jewelry. So, in an effort to appreciate the moment, I ignored my instincts and attributed the churning and gurgling of my stomach to my hunger. Though I'd found enough pocket change throughout the mall and in the atrium fountain to buy a cup of bitter black coffee—necessary for my scheme—I hadn't collected enough for a snack. If everything went according to plan, however, I would get paid later that night. A very filling dinner was on the horizon.

"It'll be fine," I muttered to myself, placing a placating hand on my grumbling stomach. "Soon—all you can eat Chinese buffet." It was a soothing idea, but my gut didn't seem convinced. Rolling my eyes, I shifted on the little atrium bench to better view the jewelry shop entrance. A few interesting looking characters had gone in and out in the last half-hour, but no one had left with a little blue bag. Unsurprising, considering the prices (and the undeniable retail apocalypse).

I tucked a stray strand of recently smoothed hair behind my ear and took a glance at my phone screen—the shift change was in about ten minutes. Time to go! Hopping up to straighten my clothes and take another swig of the java, I felt my body start to buzz with the addicting anticipation of an adrenaline rush. It was a common sensation right before a commission and I thrived on it—the element of risk combined with a 50/50 outcome (imprisonment or payoff) really got me going.

_You seriously need some new, healthy hobbies. _

Taking a deep, grounding breath and preparing to dodge gratuitous skincare samples from young and bored looking peddlers, I strode confidently across the atrium towards the jewelry store. The entrance was only a few paces away when I stopped up short—a heavy-looking mall security guard with thinning hair and a friendly face wrapped around the corner of an off-shooting hallway and toddled into the jewelry store just ahead of me.

Not at all convenient. Very poor timing.

Although my plan didn't revolve around being completely unnoticed in this jewelry store, the guard's presence complicated things. He would, in theory, know to question my intended behavior. My ability to exit as planned also revolved around playing off of the likely naïveté and gullibility of an employee—a security guard would be wiser.

Absorbed in begrudging reconsideration of my plan, I had frozen a few steps into the walkway and was staring at the jewelry store intently, arms crossed and head cocked—people were forced to go around me and they didn't seem too pleased. A few made passive-aggressive remarks that I tried to block out in order to focus. As a result, I didn't notice a man saunter up beside me until he spoke clearly, merely inches away from my ear.

"What's caught your eye, cutie?" I jumped—it was rare that anyone snuck up on me—and twisted to look at him. He had an interesting face and truly lovely eyes that immediately distracted me from the task at hand. _I bet those eyes get him everything he wants,_ I mused in semi-frustration and semi-longing. They were amber-colored—very rare—and shaded by thick, ebony eyelashes. My musings were no doubt true—he blinked and the eyelashes fluttered in a mesmerizing fashion; if you watched too long, he could probably hypnotize. His face was interesting in that I had no idea what age he might've been. His jawline was well-defined and mature, but something in his expression suggested a juvenile mirth. His skin was nearly flawless, but he had a thin scar that cut an angle through his left eyebrow, across his eye socket, and into the upper part of his sharply defined cheek. He had an eerily perfect smile and pleasantly tan skin, but he also had dark circles beneath his flawless eyes that I'd overlooked at first. A common sign of sleepless nights. Those superb eyes had a disconcerting darkness to them that I'd originally missed too—like storm clouds rolling in on a sweltering summer day.

A glance downward revealed a clearly fit, athletic body, though he was ensconced in a tasteful business suit and dress shirt that hid his figure. The suit looked familiar—I was pretty sure it'd been on the cover of _GQ_ last month, though that modelesque actor hadn't worn it nearly as well. Beneath the suit, the man had on a pair of Louboutin derby shoes that I certainly wouldn't have recognized had I not just seen them in the window display of a different mall shop. Expensive.

A glance up revealed a rather tall frame, sharply angled features, and a thick head of delightful hair. It was a full-bodied caramel brown, an average male hair length, side-parted neatly, and styled to neurotic perfection in some trendy, wavy version of a gentle pompadour. Although he'd likely put time into arranging it that way, his hairstyle still had a relaxed, approachable vibe that seemed oddly intentional. He tilted his head with an expectant smile and I noticed two incongruous tiny gold rings on his left ear—he had a double helix piercing.

_Wow,_ I thought, a little dumbfounded and feeling decidedly average. Meeting his eyes again, I abruptly realized that I hadn't responded to his introductory question.

"Oh, uh, jewelry," I murmured. _Great. Smooth. Very attractive. _

The man grinned at me. "Daydreaming about a ring, huh?" He winked and it was simultaneously the most horrifying and charming thing I'd encountered in a while. No one with eyelashes that perfect should be allowed to wink. Also, as his question sank in, so did a weird mix of self-consciousness and indignation. Me, a ring!? Then I felt silly for being self-conscious. There was nothing wrong with daydreaming about a happy future with a partner who valued you—even though that hadn't been my line of thinking at all as I gazed at the storefront. Instead, I'd been contemplating thievery, a lifestyle choice that typically paid off but didn't provide a great bedrock for a loving, trusting relationship.

_Oh, thievery! _I checked my phone's clock again—I still had seven minutes. _Focus! _"Not a ring as much as a…necklace," I said with a controlled smile, pulling away from the man's nearness somewhat reluctantly and heading towards the entrance of the store again. I'd just have to think fast in light of the security guard—there was no time for any alternate planning, and I really didn't want to wait another day to try again.

The man chuckled, keeping pace with me, and his laughter rang like deep, soothing handbells in complete contradiction with the words that came out of his mouth next: "Necklace, huh? I'd kill to be the guy to put a diamond choker around your lovely throat." Well, that took an abrupt turn. "Maybe I could buy you something sparkly today? It'd be a pleasure." His tone was suggestive and maybe a little…hungry?

I didn't meet his eyes again, my brief attraction rapidly shifting through vexation and into exasperation. Plenty of people spoke to me like that or tried to do worse, though they usually weren't so appealing initially. In a way, I was flattered by his interest…but simultaneously and overwhelmingly disgusted and annoyed. "No thanks," I sighed scathingly. "I have really expensive taste." I also didn't like to feel indebted. Undoubtedly, he wanted this to be an exchange. He wanted me to be beholden to his requests. People don't buy strangers things out of the goodness of their hearts.

"Well, I've got a really thick wallet." He drew out a lingering pause between the last two words. My eyebrows shot up involuntarily, which seemed to amuse him. _There's no time for this,_ I scoffed as he continued to follow me. He was still chuckling softly and at that point, it was borderline irritating. Something about his laugh just really made me want to slap him. Or kiss him. Or pick his pocket. Or—_two birds, one stone? _A viable idea popped into my mind, so I let him follow me into the store. He trailed me from a small distance right up to the security guard, who looked up from a jewelry case and smiled as I approached.

I smiled back, trying to make it look forced despite my inner glee—this was going to work. Then I beckoned the guard closer with my hand before he could speak. He leaned in and I whispered: "Sir, I'm so sorry to bother you, but this man behind me in the suit? He's harassing me. He's been following me all day. What should I do?"

The guard's pleasant smile faded instantly, replaced by a look of anger. "You don't need to do anything, miss. I'll take care of it." _Give a man a task, _I thought. It always worked. He slipped past me, hustling toward the attractive man, who just kept smiling a gleaming smile. Diving right into a dramatic rant about how stalking can be charged as a misdemeanor _or_ a felony, the guard put a hand on the other man's chest and gently pushed him back towards the door. The attractive man, whose smile was beginning to appear strained, put both of his hands behind his head in a mocking pose and made some quip about jurisdiction. No one likes to be told where they are and are not powerless, so the guard's outraged response was at least understandable—he shoved the attractive man a little harder towards the door and snapped something about a blacklisting. As he was guided out of the store and down the hall, the attractive man looked up at me one last time and sneered, dipping his head to seemingly commend my actions. I sneered right back and took a little bow, feeling cocky.

_What an ass, _I concluded, shaking my head and turning back to the task at hand—crime.

"Hello, welcome!" the employee behind the biggest, shiniest jewelry counter boomed zealously. "Let me know if you have any questions or if you'd like to see anything from the cases!"

I had intended to "browse" a bit before I "shopped" to allay any suspicion, but time was wearing thin. "Yes! Actually, I saw this one necklace online and was wondering if I could try it on? It's a Cobblestone with rubies…yes, that one!"

The employee, a thirty-something woman in an elegant black and flower-patterned dress, joyfully unlocked a case and pulled out the necklace I had indicated, complete with a little velvet-padded box. As she laid out the necklace and started in on a spiel about its creation, the responsibly sourced diamonds used in it, and the stylistic choice to design it with platinum rather than gold, I purposefully set my coffee on the counter next to the cloth. I nodded eagerly in response to her sales pitch, grinning—my moment of truth was coming and my body was buzzing in anticipation again.

"Would you still like to try it?" she asked.

Nodding again, I said, "Yes, please!" Then I reached out for the necklace a little too quickly—my fist connected with the coffee cup and it crashed to the side, exploding all over the necklace and partially across the front of the woman's nice dress.

_Direct hit! _The employee yelped, instinctively jumping back to save her clothing from further disaster. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Oh, your dress! I am _so_ sorry, I'm such a klutz! This is why no one will go out in public with me. Do you want me to—?" I bubbled, trying my darndest to be frustrating. It seemed to work.

"It's…fine," the employee said through clenched teeth, dripping and reaching for a polishing cloth behind the counter. I watched intently as she laid it flat on top of the now damp necklace and pad and patted gently. Intentionally trying to act like I had money to throw away, I offered to buy her a new dress and she said, "No, it's fine. My shift is up in…two minutes." Then she lifted the whole velvet pad, including the necklace and cloth that covered it, and placed it on the central counter behind her—it would need to be cleaned properly before being returned to its display. "Do you need to see anything else?" she said through an undeniably fake customer service smile, reaching for a roll of paper towels.

I smiled back at her, picking up my now empty coffee cup. "No, thank you, I think it's better if I don't." I shook the coffee cup teasingly as if to make my clumsiness even more apparent and humorous. The woman's eyes widened as tiny droplets of the dregs of the dark liquid flew. I fake-flinched and said "Sorry! I'll just…window shop…over there." She nodded coldly as I slouched away, towards the back corner of a different display. Now, all I had to do was cross my fingers, be patient, and scope out the security cameras to confirm my intel.

Genuinely browsing the jewelry collections while sneaking peeks at the cameras turned out to be fun. Everything was so sparkly and the lighting was so good—it was hard not to be enthralled. Although nothing in the display cases looked quite like me, I couldn't help but fantasize about a version of myself who could afford to justify wearing diamond earrings every day.

I meandered over to the "love & engagement" display and started thinking about the attractive man's question: _Daydreaming about a ring, huh? _Well, how could you not be when they glittered like that? Of course, his implication had been different (and perhaps more offensive if I over-thought it), but he wasn't entirely wrong. I'd stolen plenty of jewelry for various clients in my time and many of those clients had wanted the jewels for their lovers. It was always kind of sweet in an illegal and vain way. So no, I didn't frequently daydream about married life and the often-associated jewelry, but who doesn't sometimes wish for a healthy relationship that includes the exchange of shiny gifts?

To be fair, it can be hard to find that kind of connection when you're normal, let alone a twenty-something homeless contract larcenist. Add in a couple of decades worth of emotional trauma and built up secrets? Recipe for bad relationships, or a lack of lasting relationships altogether. Usually, it didn't bother me, but something about spending a little too much time at the mall addles the brain—plenty of other girls my age were wandering around, partners in tow. They were sharing tasty lattes, shopping for clothes for upcoming winter vacations, and laughing in photobooths. I was staking out a jewelry store…and being hit on by questionable, albeit modelesque strangers.

_God, get over it, _I scolded myself, yo-yoing back to reality and glancing around the shop. The female employee, still coffee-stained, was talking to her shift replacement. He looked a bit older than me but a bit younger than her, and his wide, gentle eyes just screamed "sucker." I turned and watched them talk in the reflection of a display case. The woman gestured towards my back in frustration, then to the counter with the velvet pad and dirty necklace, then to the young man's hands. He nodded. Then the female employee pointed at a couple—two giddy looking ladies shopping for wedding bands. The man nodded again and strode out from behind the counter to offer his assistance to the brides-to-be.

The woman, a poor victim of my very simple plan, finally clocked out, waved goodbye to her replacement, and left the shop with her parka wrapped tightly around her chest to cover the coffee stain.

Right on schedule. Walking slowly to keep from drawing anyone's attention, I made my way back to the main counter and leaned forward to look straight down at some other sparkly items, waiting.

This store had a fairly basic security camera system—all the cameras were of the bullet variety (rather than the now-standard dome), which allowed me to see the angle of each lens. I thought that might have been an intentional security tactic—if you know just how much you're truly being watched, you're less likely to do something immoral, right? Each camera pointed down and forward from just above and behind a display case, and all of them were stable but one. The camera directly above the round central counter, which I currently stood in front of, rotated to pan across the store on a slow and steady ten-second timeframe…exactly as the voicemail had said.

Taking a deep breath, I peeked over at the male employee and the shopping couple. The three of them were all facing away from me. Taking another breath to quell the standard anticipatory pounding of my heart, I glanced up just as the camera panned past my position.

_Moment of truth! _Then began the countdown. _10…9…8…_ I stretched out across the counter towards the secondary surface behind, fingers brushing soft, damp velvet. _7…6…5… _My height, or slight lack thereof, was a curse. I had to hop forward a little, my feet leaving the ground and my torso briefly resting on the counter, to reach the necklace. I yanked it away quickly and the whole maneuver worked a little like a magician's tablecloth trick—the necklace came free but the cloth on top of it settled back onto the velvet pad. _4…3…2… _A quick peep verified that the employee and his customers were still occupied, and so, feeling like a fool and ignoring the growing tension in my stomach, I tossed the diamond and ruby necklace down the front of my sweater. It was stupid, but there was nowhere better for it to go. If I got caught, lawmen would be more likely to check my pockets than the pocket created by my bra—this placement could buy me just a little bit of time. I looked back down, returning to my faux-admiration of a piece of fine jewelry and ignoring the cold chill of the platinum nestled against my bare skin. _And…1. Say cheese! _

The camera, nearly silent, completed it's rotation and began again. That was all there was to it. I waited for a second or two longer, then stood up straight, pulled on my jacket and zipped it up to my collarbone for added necklace security, and turned towards the clearly marked emergency exit in the back. Finally, the employee noticed me, spinning away from the beaming women and calling out, "Miss! That isn't an exit! Wait, stop!"

Still thoroughly embarrassed by the growing lack of sophistication involved in this whole heist but determined to avoid the front door's metal detector, I puffed out my cheeks and clapped a hand to my mouth. "I know," I spluttered, putting my other hand on my stomach and turning to make wild eye contact with the employee. "I just…didn't think I could…make it to the bathroom." My speech was punctuated with loud, gross, dry heaves. You know, for effect.

Eyes filling with terror, the employee dashed forward towards the door. "Oh, jeez, not the carpet," he breathed, shoving the door open. I crashed through the frame and out into the windy, frozen alley behind the mall, dropping to my knees beside a dumpster. The man watched, disgusted, ignoring the alarm that sounded as a result of the use of that door while I continued to fake vomit just out of his view. Finally, I stood up and wiped my mouth with my sleeve.

"Cafeteria food, man. I knew it tasted moldy."

"Are you…okay?" he prodded, nose scrunched.

Rubbing my stomach with a sigh, I replied, "Yes, thank you. Just…don't get the Philly cheesesteak from the food court." I grinned at him, fully aware of how disconcerting that had to have been.

"Uh, alright. Well…have a good day," he muttered, face filled with confusion as he popped back inside, pulling the door shut behind him and silencing the alarm in the process.

And that was that—a successful conclusion to an easy, albeit stupid theft. My heart was still racing with the adrenaline of the moment—it never got old. True joy was to pull off a job, even one that simple, and to know you were walking away with $115,000 worth of pretty rocks stuffed in your bra. I couldn't help but beam as I looked up and down the alley around me, saw that it was empty, and walked a bit farther north towards a more secluded, bisecting alley. When I turned the corner I found only a layer of dirty grey street snow and miscellaneous garbage—no loiterers besides me.

In the privacy of that gross, freezing alley, I gave in to my piqued but unfounded sense of pride and did a dumb little celebratory dance. Beginner-level shoplifting job though it had been, I was feeling brash. Commissions like this had been falling into my lap for the last ten years and I was starting to get bored with the monotony, but I never got bored of the thrill. Adrenaline can be so addicting that you find yourself willingly overlooking the potential consequences of your actions—that's part of what makes it so fun. The other fun part is the profit, of course.

_You shouldn't enjoy this so much,_ I thought, raining on my own parade. _Your choices are going to bite you in the butt someday. _

In fact, that day might've already arrived: "Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?" called a familiar symphonic voice. Genuinely startled by the annoying, attractive man for the second time in the last half hour, I nearly tripped and my dance came to a jerky halt. He was lounging against the wall of the alley a little further up, cast in shadow. I could've sworn I'd just looked in that direction. Had I mistaken him for a pile of garbage? It would be an understandable mix-up, really, considering his personality.

"Ugh, you," I groaned. "Thought that guard handled you." I stood still, facing him, exuding an air of what I like to call "fuck off, buddy."

The man chuckled again—such a beautiful, frustrating sound—and pushed himself off the wall. He strode towards me, one side of his mouth quirked up. "He handled me? More like you handled him." He continued to advance towards me and only then did I recognize the suspiciousness of this situation. Had he been following me? When I'd claimed him as my stalker, I'd been joking…but how did he know I'd left the jewelry shop via the back door? How did he know to wait here, in an alley behind the mall?

If he _was_ following me, what did he want? That question, at least, I felt I had an answer for. If I were ordinary, like those other girls my age in the mall, my heart would've been pounding with fear—instead, it started pounding in preparation for a fight. He seemed like a threat, but he was still just a man.

_Wait, 'more like_ _you handled him'?_

"What do you mean by that?" I inquired, leaning back against the grimy wall with a hopefully coquettish expression—if I had to, I would reel him in. He seemed like he wouldn't respond well to standoffishness or violence anyway, and questions were beginning to fill my head—I wanted answers before I beat the snot out of him.

The stone behind me was ice cold and my jacket was much too thin for the Chicago December climate, making this whole situation more uncomfortable. Slushy snow was soaking into my boots now, too, drenching my socks. Nothing can set a person off on an angry spiral quite like soggy socks.

"I mean that that was some smart thinking—using him to get rid of me and vice versa." Oh. How did he catch that? "Would've been hard to pull off your little sting with that guard in the store."

My heart skipped a beat. _How in the hell—? _"'Little sting?'" I repeated innocently, smothering a tiny crack in my voice. He was standing directly in front of me now, his amber eyes shining brightly despite the dingy winter sunlight. "What are you talking about?"

The man put his hands on his hips and grinned. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about." He cleared his throat and continued in a mocking tone, "But did you know that theft of an item valued between one-hundred and five-hundred thousand dollars is a Class 1 felony in the state of Illinois? You could spend up to fifteen years in prison and owe up to twenty-five thousand dollars in fines."

_Good thing I'm about to earn over 28K, _I thought darkly. _I'll still come out in the black, at least. Who is this guy? A cop? A lawyer?_ Growing anxiety cut through my attempts to charm him into cooperation; standoffishness returned as my socks grew soggier.

"Did you know that cornering girls in dark alleys is also a felony? You could spend up to the rest of your days in the emergency room and owe up to all of your savings as financial compensation." With my most cagey, feminine smile, I cracked my knuckles. The man snorted, not taking my teasing threat seriously at all—no surprise. "Besides," I continued, tone shifting to tenuous sincerity, "I didn't steal anything, and I never would. I'm a good girl."

_Stay calm. He's only a creepy businessman, and he's probably just trying to coerce you into something sexual. This is fine. You can take him. He's tall but he looks slow. _

"Oh, really? Is that so?" he prodded, closing in on my bubble of personal space. He was grinning still and his posture was relaxed. I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could he'd crossed the small distance that'd remained between us and spun me around, my face to the wall. With the ease that only comes from extensive practice, he twisted one of my arms up and back, disabling it entirely, and locked the other one in place with his body weight. He jerked forward abruptly, squishing all of the air out of my lungs between the baling press of his body and the freezing cement wall. Then he leaned back, pulling me with him, and reached around with his one free arm, partially unzipped my jacket, and slipped his hand down the front of my sweater.

The moment he'd spun me, I just kind of dissociated. He was so quick! Not at all what I'd predicted. I didn't snap back to the present until I felt the top two buttons of my sweater pop off from his rough motions, but before I could start screaming and thrashing, he released me. Spinning away and feeling extremely violated, I put my hands up defensively, braced for more. _How dare he!? This son of a—!_

"A good girl, huh? So…you paid for this?" he was laughing at me now, and twirling the _very expensive _diamond and ruby necklace around his pointer finger the way lifeguards carelessly twirl their whistles. "That's funny. I thought that store was known for sending stuff home in blue boxes, not black bras." His eyes flicked to my chest. Beneath my field jacket, which was long, olive green and stolen, I had on a black button-up sweater. Beneath that sweater—which I'd stolen specifically for this gig so as to look like a fashionable mall shopper—I had on a fitted black camisole and beneath that, a black bra. It was a lacy number that now peeked out. The entire top left edge and an inch below were visible.

"Oh my _God,_" I hissed, pulling my camisole up and my flopping sweater lapels together to try and right this wrong. It was futile and that made me angrier. Struggling to squelch my growing desire to spring forward and tear this handsome but suspicious and problematic man a new one, I took a deep breath and spoke calmly, arms crossed. "Look…I have a client who's made me a very nice, convincing offer for that piece. If you've got a problem with me stealing, you should take it up with them." It was an absurd conversational long shot, of course, but maybe he'd reveal something useful if I could just get him talking.

Instead, he burst out laughing. Not a promising response. "You know what? That's a great idea, babe. Got your phone on you?" Frowning and befuddled, I nodded. "Call 'em. Maybe we can negotiate." He winked, still twirling the necklace and pacing back and forth with a casual lope.

_This is fucking ridiculous. _My stomach growled, painfully empty, because this whole thing wasn't uncomfortable enough. Shaking my head and pulling my phone out of my pocket, I snuck a look at the man. He was watching me intently and smiling as he paced. Although I still couldn't guess his age—though he had to be somewhere between eighteen and thirty—his smile was utterly childish. With a frustrated huff, I redialed the number from the letter and put the phone up to my ear. I expected it to ring a few times and then roll over to the voicemail—which should've included a recording to guide me to the drop location—but instead, I heard it ring through…and then a phone in the alley with me rang too. Coincidence? It happened again. Then again. My tension was mounting in tandem with my confusion. Then, finally, on the fourth ring, the man stopped pacing, reached into his suit jacket pocket, and pulled out a very generic flip phone. He answered it; the ringing on my end stopped. Then, dumbfounded, I watched his pretty mouth form the words that I could hear coming through the line: "It's nice to meet you, Ivy."

A wave of terror rolled over me as situational realization soaked in. All of those gut instincts I'd denied and bouts of queasiness I'd attributed to hunger pains bounced back and slapped me in the face. This was bad—a bad position to be in, and I'd put myself there in desperation and boredom. Then the terror was replaced by fury. I, an accomplished con-artist, had been conned by this creep!? I robbed a mall for this!? Just to be lured into a dank, bitter Chicago alley and—and what? Was I about to be ax-murdered?

Terror washed over me again as his words sank in—this man knew my name. My _real _name. I didn't give it out, finding comfort in a lifestyle of faux anonymity, but he knew my real name and he clearly knew my career choice. That put him on a list so short I could count the members on one hand.

He had too much power.

"You know, you're much cuter in person. Blurry security camera footage doesn't do you justice."

"Wow," I snapped, voice firm despite my trembling body. "So you really _are_ a stalker. Great." My brain was still trying to process the implications of this situation, but I was very aware that I needed to make the next move. His plans and intentions were now a complete mystery and that made him much too dangerous. Anything could happen if I waited too long—action on my end was the only possible preventative measure. "How do you know my name?"

"It's my job to know everything about my targets. I do very thorough research." He snickered and resumed his pacing and necklace twirling after pocketing the little burner phone.

It was quite hard to be as horrified by the implications of his words when his voice sounded like _that_. Smooth, yet throaty and deep. "Targets, huh? Who the hell are you then? Are you a PI? Bounty hunter?"

"_Definitely_ not," he replied, rolling his eyes. "My name is Ari. I've been sent to collect you."

Now, I'd been through some pretty crazy shit, but no one had ever come to "collect" me before. That probably meant that I was getting some serious clout in the world of thieves, or I had royally pissed someone off. Regardless, I wasn't so sure I _wanted_ to be collected, so I started to formulate a plan.

The man—Ari, apparently—continued his casual pacing. Suddenly it was obvious that his pacing was that of a predator's, toying with its prey. Usually, though, prey didn't know how to fight back.

"Collect me? Okay, Ari. How do you intend to collect me?" I asked him casually, edging closer. "I'm not one to go along with that sort of thing."

His lips twitched and he smiled again. "Oh, by force, obvious—" he started, but he was cut off by the sudden slam of my total body weight against his chest as I lunged at full speed and leaped against him. He instinctively wrapped his arms around me but it was too late. As soon as he started to fall backward I pulled my knees up and wedged them into his sides, grabbing his collar, tucking my head, and holding on for dear life. His body made the perfect buffer for my descent. Ari crashed into the grimy snow with a surprised "oof." His back hit first, followed by his head, which bounced against the ground in an admittedly cringeworthy way. That was concussion-inducing in most people. His arms parted behind my back and dropped to the ground beside him like limp noodles.

I sat up, untucking my head from where I'd burrowed it against his warm body, and looked at his face, expecting to see him passed out or at least visibly dazed. Instead, Ari was trying to sit up too. When he saw my confused expression he seemed to change his mind, laying back flat beneath me with a winded laugh. "Wow. Aren't you the little linebacker?"

How was he forming sentences? He should've been drooling, or preferably unconscious. I scowled, frustrated by the apparent lack of effect of my tackle. Then again, he was still lying there. Maybe he was just a good faker—that head bounce _had_ to have affected him. "Okay, I'm done with this," I seethed, ignoring the laughter that I could feel rippling from him between my legs—I was still sitting on his chest, after all. "This has been interesting but…don't ever contact me again." I leaned to the side, reaching for the necklace that he still held in his flopped right hand. Even if I couldn't complete my commission, given that it was apparently a fake one in the first place, I could at least sell the necklace to a pawnshop for some cash.

When I leaned, my weight shifted. In the same moment, his other hand, the one I wasn't watching, pushed hard against my shoulder, shoving me to the side. I rolled painfully onto my back to protect my head and before I realized just what had happened, he had reversed our positions and was now sitting on my hips. His warm brown hair, which had been artfully styled, was now messy, darker, and dripping slowly from the moisture of the disgusting alley snow. It looked better, oddly enough.

But, it seemed, he really had handled that fall just fine.

"No contact? Ever again?" he repeated back with a dramatic lower-lip pout, leaning down close and reaching behind my neck. It took me a second to realize that he was putting the necklace on me properly. Weird. Why? "I thought we had a real connection," he whispered in my ear and rolled his hips against mine salaciously. I could feel his smile without needing to see it and my blood boiled.

_What a bad damn day, _I thought, pressing my eyes closed and ignoring how good he smelled up close—like pine and crisp winter air. Then, deftly, I bent my left leg up behind Ari's back and wrapped my ankle around the outside of his. With all of my strength, I popped my hips up towards the sky, sending him flying forward. Thankfully, he was wise enough to throw his arms out in front of him, protecting me from getting crushed and his face from getting skid marks—ideal. Catching him off guard, I reached up and around one of his elbows and yanked hard, while simultaneously rolling to the right. He slid off me smoothly, his expression mildly surprised, and I used the momentum of his detachment to rocket my fist forward into the side of his nose. You know, for good measure.

Springing away and to my feet, I put my fists up and waited. Ari wasn't laughing anymore, but he still didn't look as shellshocked or beaten as I'd hoped. He sat up slowly and pushed a chunk of sodden, messy hair out of his face, revealing…no damage. My punch should've broken his nose, at least. It wasn't even bleeding. He rubbed it a little before sighing. "Wish you hadn't done all that, babe."

_Wish I'd hit harder, _I thought, backing up. This whole experience was filling me with doubt. Doubt that clearly showed on my face—it provided an advantage that Ari took. He was on his feet and lunged forward so quickly that I didn't even realize he'd moved until after his fist connected with my abdomen, pitching me forward.

It hurt like a bitch, but at least this pain knocked the pain of an empty stomach out of the field. Did I even _have_ a functioning stomach after that strike? He'd clipped my diaphragm too, and I could feel my lungs burning.

I groaned as his first recoiled. "You really don't want to fight with me."

"Well, no, not particularly," I coughed, standing up straight again in time to see him loosening his tie. It was a horribly menacing action and it gave me goosebumps. "Can't you just tell me why you're here to collect me…and then maybe don't?"

Ari sneered again, circling. "No, not really." Then he dashed forward. This time, however, I was ready. I sidestepped, leaped up and to the left, pushed off of the alley wall to the right, and managed to land a solid sidekick to his throat. He stumbled back…_one step._ Seriously?! At least it made him gag and reach up, leaving his body briefly defenseless. I took the opportunity and pressed on with another string of attacks, this time trying out a palm heel to his collarbone, a hook heel kick to his lower back, an uppercut to his chin, a spinning back kick to his ribs, and a final hammer fist to his groin.

Though he was making me doubt myself, I knew how hard I hit. My first strike had enough pressure behind it to shatter his collarbone. Multiple ribs should've been fractured, and a few of his teeth should've cracked from being slammed together. He should've been rendered infertile, honestly.

All he did was wince. And then he laughed breathily. "Okay," he wheezed. "Okay, I'll admit, that last one kind of stung."

_Are you joking? What is he, the fucking Terminator?_ I backed up warily again, watching his eyes, trying to predict his actions. He cracked his neck with a painful sounding pop, and his eyes found mine. There was a darkness in those amber pools for sure. I felt terror trying to take over my body again and realized with complete confidence that I wasn't going to win this fight. That left only one solution.

This was a solution I typically tried to avoid, as using it required me to share one of my most intimate secrets. I was trembling at this point, but not from the cold. Forcing my shaking hands to comply, I unzipped my jacket the rest of the way, removed it, and tied it around my waist. Then I undid the few remaining buttons of my sweater and discarded it, leaving only the thin black camisole. Ari was watching with obscene intensity and a bit of a sly smile that made me cringe, but I braced myself for the oncoming satisfaction that his next expression would yield and opened my wings.

They were just under fifteen feet of pure power and intimidation. Or so I thought.

Ari's eyes wandered somewhat lazily from my decolletage to one of my wings, but his expression never really changed. Finally, his gaze drifted back to meet mine and he flashed me a toothy grin. He reached up and undid the button of his suit jacket, removing it smoothly and draping it over his arm. Without it, I could see his physique much more clearly, but that didn't matter anymore because he rolled his shoulders back, cracked his neck again, and unfolded his own wings.

And I had thought that mine—which were a rusty auburn with dark vertical streaks and fine-featured barring—were intimidating. Ari's wings were monstrously large; his wingspan probably exceeded twenty feet and his feathers were a uniform deep, dark brown mottled with buff splotches across his coverts. Though I was sure his wings were pleasant up close, I was too terrified to see them as anything but another mystery.

Never had I ever met anyone else with wings. Could this be a trick? Had his "thorough research" really revealed everything about me, allowing him to stage a con this elaborate? Was I hallucinating? But no, he took a step towards me and the wind ruffled his feathers in a way that I knew was real. He took another step forward and I panicked, lurching back. He put his hands up, the universal sign of placation, and traipsed in my direction.

"You stop right there!" I shouted, faking tenacity. He did stop—a shock, really. "Who the hell are you? How do you have those?" My right hand moved of its own accusatorial volition to point at his added appendages.

He sighed and pulled his wings partially closed, giving the impression of an adumbral cloak. "As I already said, my name is Ari. I have these because…well, someone thought it'd be a good idea."

_What the hell does that mean!?_

"Wh-who gave them to you?" I demanded, fighting a stutter. He started to edge closer to me again. "Don't you take another step or I swear to God—"

"The same people who gave you yours," he interrupted, halting again with an obvious look of annoyance. My head was reeling. That couldn't be possible. "Now, if you're satisfied with this little show and tell session, it's time to be collected. Okay? So why don't you just—"

I didn't wait to hear the rest—that was enough bad news. The people who gave me my wings had traumatized me for life in a way that I would never be able to completely bounce back from. I spent the last decade in a state of constant paranoia, dodging those same people. If Ari was connected to them in any way, he was bad news too (even more so than was obvious). If he was sent to collect me on their behalf, which was starting to seem likely, I was already in danger. It was time to disappear again. So I took off, launching myself straight up into the air and managing to catch a breeze that made the takeoff less choppy. I flapped furiously and soared straight up, between the mall building and another tall downtown establishment, all while praying that no one was staring out their window nearby. Glancing down, I spotted Ari. He had watched me lift off and now he was shaking his head in clear frustration. He dropped his upscale suit jacket to the ground, faced forward, ran a few feet, and took off clumsily—his wings were much too large for the alley, and he had to twist almost immediately so they could run the right direction within the space. Even at that angle, he couldn't flap to the full extent.

_Please,_ I begged mentally, looking away from him as he rose. _Please just leave me alone. _

Few things are quite as emotionally taxing as suddenly realizing and being forced to acknowledge the depth of your denial. Over a decade ago, I convinced myself that I was one of a kind. I believed wholeheartedly that no one else had ever been made quite like me. I told myself I was a pariah—and that belief justified my choices and permitted me to embrace a morally ambiguous, alternative life. Of course, I knew better. No one in their right mind would bake a perfect pie and then say, "well, that's enough, I'm never baking a pie again." Why would the creation of a genetic recombinant be any different? Still, I had spent years trying to block out my childhood, trying to create a story in my head to cope with my abuse and on some days it mostly worked, even in the face of the paranoia. Today, every bit of those stories was melting away, revealing repressed memories and a bundle of frazzled nerves.

I was not alone, and that meant that everything had been real. Every horrible abuse that I'd suppressed had been real, and my life was a lie that I'd created to keep myself safe.

_So much for that._

Tears filled my eyes as I banked left and soared north, over the city. As those tears reached my cheeks, they froze, trembled, and then broke away from my face, falling to earth like tiny pieces of hail. Waves of pain and grief and anger and anxiety and panic flooded over me as other aspects of reality started to sink in and denial became more and more impossible. A new sensation bubbled up too—guilt. If Ari was like me, had he been tortured as I had? Had his childhood been taken from him, replaced with a horror story? Were there others? Should I have searched for them? Could I have helped them? Or would I have just died sooner?

"You know, Chicago has a lot of avid birdwatchers," Ari shouted through the roar of the wind nearby. It was a good thing the currents were strong enough for me to coast at that point or I might have fallen from the sky in surprise. I'd nearly forgotten that he was following me. "Flying a little low today, aren't we?" He was about ten feet above me and offset to my right—I would've seen his shadow on the few stringy clouds had I not been so wrapped up in my thoughts and blinded by my freezing tears. It was a menacing shadow, as was he. Ari's big, dark wings looked like a set of death's scythes slicing through the sky in the faint winter sunlight.

Of course, he was right. I could see the top of the Willis Tower now, not so very far below. We were probably gliding at an altitude of only 3,000 feet or so—anyone who looked longer than a moment would know that we weren't birds.

But did it matter anymore? Ari's presence was an omen: my life was undoubtedly about to reach an unsatisfying and early denouement. What'd I care if a handful of humans suffered an existential crisis as a result of my existence? If a few people had to seek psychiatric help in exchange for my possible survival…well, it felt like a justified trade.

I looked over my shoulder, making bleary eye contact with Ari. His dress shirt and pants rippled over his body in the wind; his damp hair had already dried out thanks to Mother Nature's blow dryer. As we held each other's gaze for a moment, I reached a firm conclusion.

_Fuck it._

Ari seemed to see the choice I'd made reflected in my face. "Don't do it, Ivy!" he shouted with a snarl, dropping altitude to get a little closer. "This doesn't have to be any harder than you've already—"

I dove. The sudden increase in wind whipped my hair back behind me and around my face harder than before, and the normally soft tendrils felt like tiny lashes against my cold, bare skin. The city streaked by below as I rocketed down and to the southeast, trailing between the river and the lakeshore. It was a risky trajectory, but I hoped Ari would realize just how high the chances were that we'd be spotted and would willingly back off. At the very least, maybe he would change course in his pursuit, allowing me time to put some distance between us.

My wings were pumping furiously to aid in my acceleration, and they were throbbing. I didn't use them often enough and keeping them folded as tightly as I did when in public was physically taxing—for both my wings and my back, and all of the connected muscles and tissue. Everything hurt and now I was overworking my feathery appendages too, praying that they would hold out long enough for me to do…whatever it was that I hadn't yet planned.

I estimated my altitude at that point to be around 1,500 feet—I'd cut it in half in seconds—and chanced a glance over my shoulder. No ominous death-omen men flew behind me.

_Thank God, _I thought, leveling out in tentative relaxation. He must've given up and dropped back to avoid potential human detection. That made sense after his quip about the birdwatchers. Undoubtedly, people who created creatures like me probably valued secrecy—Ari had to be an extension of that. So, as much as I hated the idea of exposure, I realized that my safest choice now was to land again and stay in public. That would give me leverage. If Ari got too close, I could threaten to reveal my wings in a crowd. It sounded overwhelmingly foolish, but at this point, my life in Chicago was already over anyway. I'd either die at the hands of my creator that evening or vanish in a new city tomorrow, leaving a fresh legend of a winged cryptid in my wake.

I was coasting like an idiot, pondering a landing site, when something slammed into my back, knocking me completely out of my flight pattern and into a free fall.

The hit—which landed solidly between my shoulder blades—forced my wings to bend back, and then the drag pinned them there, useless. I screamed like a banshee as I careened towards the ground, body flipping through the below-freezing air uncontrollably. Screaming was a mistake—I lost control of my breathing and nearly crossed into hyperventilation as the wind tore my shout away from me. Panic set in as the altitude dropped. Only as I recognized that I hadn't inhaled in a few seconds did I manage to throw my arms and legs out beside me like a sugar glider to stabilize, and from there I managed to reopen my wings. The updraft that I caught felt like it might've ripped them off, but I spiraled to distribute the drag before straightening out and gliding again.

A dark streak rocketed past me, feet away, before curving up into a little loop-de-loop. Trembling and trying to regain physical control, I didn't understand what was happening until it was too late. Completing the last half of his vertical arching maneuver, Ari flipped down and landed a surprisingly solid punch directly to the radial bone of my right wing.

Aside from me, no one had touched my wings since my escape thirteen years ago. I wasn't sure I'd ever trusted anyone enough to allow them to. On top of that, it felt too intimate—I didn't want to share this part of myself, visually or physically, with just anyone. And so, for the first time in thirteen years, I re-experienced violation on a level that I considered comparable to sexual assault.

If I hadn't been in so much pain, I would have been alight with rage.

As it was, tears filled my eyes again, blinding me as I barrel-rolled from the strike and tried not to plummet. Another shriek wrenched itself from my throat, the pitch ratcheting up even higher as Ari attacked from above once more. Having never met anyone else like me, I'd never been challenged to or even considered the possibility of an aerial fight. It was pathetic—I felt like a feeble, useless child—and all I could do was watch through blurred eyes and hazy thoughts as Ari managed to snatch my right wingtip in his right hand and expertly smash his left palm into the phalanges.

His hair was blown back and his expression was focused, yet serene. This must've been a normal day for him. Watching his expression, I couldn't help but think of one of those famous baroque paintings of the Archangel Michael striking down Lucifer. When Ari connected with my wing, I had a perplexing flash of a question: was I the devil in this situation? Then a tiny crunch and the accompanying pain rippled up through my feathers, across my back, and into my spine, wiping my mind of everything but agony.

I veered to the left, using the emotional exertion that supplemented my newest wail to pull away from Ari's reach. My mind was blank, filled only with raw flight response. I had to get away. I had to land, or he'd force me to. If I could just get to the ground, maybe I could fight him off after all. It hadn't worked before but maybe…

He was dive-bombing me now. Never striking but coming in just close enough that my heart would stop in anticipation of a killing blow. It was a scare tactic and it was absolutely working.

Breathing shakily and trying to stay calm, I peeped over at my damaged wing—it hurt infinitely more than it looked like it should have. There appeared to be a small kink in it now, towards the center, and I could tell that the aerodynamics of that wing alone had shifted. I'd need to compensate for that to land. That could be achieved through spiraling, as soon as I spotted a safe place to touch down.

_If you have to fight him on the ground right now, you'll get yourself killed even faster. _It was an intrusive thought, but a valid one. I had to lose Ari before landing. So, as he dive-bombed again and looped far up and back, I made a recklessly stupid and fearful choice. I angled down, aimed directly at a cluster of skyscrapers.

My wings had ached when I'd started flying but now I was longing for a level of pain as mild as that. The right wing felt like a crushed soda can in comparison to the left, and it was in so much anguish that it was starting to go numb. Numbness seemed like a bad sign overall, but at that moment it was an advantage. Just before crashing into the huge windowed expanse of a corporate building, I jerked my body to the right, playing off of the wing's desire to falter. I ducked behind that structure and then circled another as fast as I could, trying to spot Ari nearby. Not seeing him, I swooped to the left, forcing the kinked wing to stutter its way into a glide. I hooked between a row of high-rises, flying at a very visible height. If anyone peered out their window over that street, they would be completely capable of identifying me, right down to my hair color and clothing…and, of course, my wings. Perhaps heedlessly, my hopes were still high that Ari would do everything he could to avoid public exposure like this. It was new for me and not a pleasant sensation—maybe he'd know better than to be seen.

A sting of fresh pain passed up the wing and to my spine. _Land! Before you fall! _Panicked, I picked the nearest logical landing site—just barely managing to angle my wings correctly, I spiraled down and then curved back up into some of the secure looking steel trestle of the Chicago "L" Green Line.

Unable to fold my wings, I scrambled across the framework awkwardly, making my way to the less visible inner side of one of the support beams. Once there, I wedged myself into a "v" of the frame, dropped my head back against the glacial steel, and held my breath. Relative silence settled in. No one tried to dive-bomb me. The only sounds were the standard ones of my city. The trestle trembled a little as a train approached a nearby station, but nothing attacked.

I sighed in mixed relief, closing my eyes to keep a fresh wave of tears in. Only then did I realize that the numbness from my wing seemed to be spreading, which felt unusual. Maybe it was a result of the cold, rather than the injury? I reached down to untie the jacket wrapped around my waist, recognizing then just how bitter it felt. My cold tolerance was pretty high, especially in comparison to most humans, but the air only got thinner and chillier the higher up you flew. Flying in the below-freezing air with only a camisole as core coverage had likely been a mistake. Cold temperatures only enhance the pain of physical trauma too. Trying to stabilize my shaky breathing and regain my wits, I leaned forward to start the undoubtedly excruciating process of folding my wings in tight enough to tuck them under the thin jacket. Every second of the motion ached, but I'd gotten them to a halfway folded point and had one arm into a jacket sleeve when something slammed into my temple, knocking me sideways out of my roost. With a yelp, I plummeted, falling faster than I could respond to at that point. Before my brain even caught up to the situation, my body slammed to the ground like a discarded kindergartner's backpack, buffered from directly striking concrete only by a conveniently placed pile of plowed street snow.

Sleeping on your back when you have wings is uncomfortable. Landing on them, under the full weight of your body, is horrid. The fall forced them to shut and bent the already damaged and distorted wing at a slightly new and equally cringeworthy angle. All-consuming pain erupted from my back. My head was throbbing with an instant migraine now too, probably from the hit to my temple. It felt heavier than usual, and when I tried to lift it, a searing ache flashed behind my eyes. I let my head drop back into the snow and tried to assess the fresh damage to my body. Could I get up? What hit me? Breathing shakily and starting to panic, I forced my eyes open in the dim sunlight in time to see the silhouette of an athletic man drop down from the trestle above me, his wings angled like a parachute to smooth his descent.

Ari swaggered forward, feathered appendages still wide open and on display, and got close enough to cast a shadow over my spiritless body. He was grinning, evidently unworried about being spotted.

_This is the end,_ I realized, feeling the coldness of my body settle deeper within. Tears welled up in my eyes again, but I was too tired and miserable to indulge their flow. My body had betrayed me, now, just in time for my likely execution. I couldn't even get up, let alone fight back, regardless of how much I wanted to leap to my feet and slam Ari's beautiful face into the steel support beams of the "L." Was I really in so much pain, or was this just shock?

When it came right down to it, it didn't matter. Exhaustion settled in with the cold. I gave up. I let my body sink into the grimy snow. A crowd of humans was gathering in the periphery of my vision, but they couldn't—or wouldn't—do anything to help. I couldn't even turn my head to look at them and convey a need for assistance anyway. I could only watch dimly as Ari reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone—a much nicer one than the burner he'd used to mislead me earlier. With his wings still out, brandished audaciously in view of the gathering humans, he turned around, held the phone up at arm's-length in front of him, and blatantly snapped a selfie with my unmoving body in the background. A trophy photo. Feeling like a future work of taxidermied art, my chest constricted with rage.

If by some miracle, I managed to dodge execution, I was coming after Ari.

Cheerfully, he spun on one heel to face me again and snickered, looking up from the device and into my eyes as he sauntered closer. "Do it for the 'gram, am I right?" He winked again, playfully.

_What kind of Gen Z bullshit—? _My breathing was ragged, and my hatred was growing with every step that Ari took in my direction until the red sole of a Louboutin slammed into my face and kicked the world into darkness.


	2. Fear-Induced Trauma

**CHAPTER 2 - FEAR-INDUCED TRAUMA**

—

SUMMARY:

Even though Ari made a mess of his mission, he still got the job done. That's all that really matters. Plus, now he has something to look forward to at the end of his day…assuming things don't get any messier.

—

"Batchelder, man…They're going to skin you alive for that little stunt."

"Pfft. I'd like to see them try." Lie number one.

"You're seriously not at all worried?"

"Nah, not at all." Lie number two. Ari knew that his actions throughout the pursuit and capture of the girl would be considered reckless, and he would be told that he'd jeopardized the mission. He also knew the standard response to those offenses all too well, and his body tensed merely thinking about it—he wouldn't quite be skinned alive, but it certainly wouldn't be pleasant. "This kind of thing happens all the time," he continued. "They can afford to cover it up. Besides, at the end of the day, they're still getting exactly what they wanted."

"I mean, sure. If you say so. Hey, do you know what they're even going to do with her?"

"Not a clue." Lie number three. Ari had a pretty good idea of what they planned to do with her. He'd been the one surveilling her and building her file, after all, and had been begging for the green-light to bring her in for nearly three weeks. On top of what he suspected they had on the docket, Ari had some plans of his own. At the end of the day, he would get exactly what he wanted, too.

His assigned accomplice hummed in thought, leaning back in the passenger seat and toying with the feedback screen of the tracking device. "Well, I sure hope they return her to our unit when they're done. She looks fucking tasty." Ari couldn't hold back an amused snort, understanding his partner's insinuation before he'd finished sharing it. "Y'know? In more ways than one."

Ari sniggered. He didn't have the same "tastes" as some of the others, but he did understand and agree with the sentiment. She was certainly appetizing, and he'd been craving her for weeks—since the first piece of grainy camera footage that revealed her face came through. "You're not wrong."

"Honestly though, it's not fair. How did you get this assignment in the first place? The usual targets aren't nearly as enticing." The other man tossed the tracking device onto the dashboard casually and reached for his black thermos of coffee.

"Guess I'm just damn lucky," Ari professed, corners of his mouth pulled up into a crafty smile. Lie number four. He was neither lucky nor had he been assigned this task by chance.

"You're telling me," his partner chuckled. "How was it, fighting her? Is she any good?"

"Oh. Yeah, she's…pretty good." Ari sighed a little, thinking about her body on top of his, pinning him down after that tricky little tackle. When she'd leaped onto him, bringing him to the ground…it had tickled one of his long-repressed memories. He didn't like how that felt, but he'd found himself oddly reassured by the location of their skirmish. An alley. Not a subway tunnel. That had been a distracting thought pattern, and he was happy to forget it in favor of the distracting view of Ivy atop him. In those first few moments, as his vision spun a little, the view had been especially interesting. The edges of her outline were a little bit blurry, and she looked like a glowing, flaming mirage. Powerful. Dangerous. With her weight on his chest, she'd been so confident in her ability to dominate. She'd made a rookie mistake in assuming that he had the strength and reflexes of a human. Then he thought about his body on top of hers. He _did_ like how _that_ felt. He'd been overly confident in his ability to dominate her, too, of course, but it hadn't mattered. She was in his clutches and that was everything. Her small frame was trapped beneath his, writhing. His mouth had been so agonizingly close to her face, her neck. Just revisiting the memory was making Ari's blood boil with longing.

But that groin strike. Yikes. Ari cleared his throat and continued. "All of her strikes were pretty vicious—definitely meant to end a fight before it could really start. A human would've been trashed after one round. That means she probably doesn't have experience with extended combat, which is convenient for us. But she's strong. Much stronger than she thinks she is." He'd seen the self-doubt growing behind her emerald eyes and had gladly exploited it, but his face and ribs still hurt like hell. There was a good chance of some bruising, and though he would never admit it to anyone, it had been a closer fight than it'd seemed. "Faster, too." He'd barely been able to keep up.

"Interesting," replied the partner, twisting a little to peer through the small barred window to the containment portion of the van. He twisted back, wide-eyed and shaking his head in thrilled disbelief. "Which lab did you say she originally came from?"

"Boston," Ari answered, calling upon his memory of her measly original file. The Boston lab had been a substantial one back in the day, but it had focused more on the logistics of the entire operation and less on the actual experimentation. Therefore, it was strange for a single recombinant to have existed there in the first place but fairly unsurprising that she'd managed to break out. "Escaped in 2009."

The other man whistled. "Makes sense. Fuck. If Boston made all of their freaks look like that and I was made ten years sooner, I might have put in for a transfer."

Ari snorted softly again, shaking his head. If this man had been made ten years earlier he would've been created with a barely sentient brain. He wouldn't have known to want a transfer, let alone to question his placement. The only consistency between what he would've been then and what he was now would be his appetite. He would've wanted to devour the girl either way. Plus, if he'd tried to request any special treatments or transfers ten years ago, he would've been retired on the spot. These days…well, maybe that was still true too.

Besides all that, the Boston lab had been an unfortunate target of a strange rash of arsons not very long after Ivy had escaped. It had already begun to earn an unlucky reputation—after barely scraping by through multiple FBI raids, becoming a favorite picketing location for animal rights activists, and even encountering one very confusing mixup with the Irish Mob—before it burned to the ground. Although the eventual demise of the lab had cost Itex quite a lot, no one much missed it.

Still, if all the freaks looked like Ivy, the world would be an undeniably happier place. "Yeah, same," Ari ultimately agreed, although he had technically been functional for more than ten years and hadn't even known a Boston lab had existed until less than a month ago. He started thinking about Ivy again. How different would things have been if he'd caught her then, right after she'd escaped? Would he even have remembered it? The system was different now—better. Back then, she would've been executed almost immediately, disposed of, and his life would've just gone back to normal. Now, though, she had accrued value.

Ari was ready to cash in on that value.

They were still in downtown Chicago, so they had about a forty-five-minute drive back to the base. Once there, Ivy would have to go through decontamination and conditioning, as well as an extensive intake process. Easily a few hours. Then they'd wait and let her sweat as she considered her position. That'd last for a few days, and that's when Ari could strike. He just needed to hold off for a few more hours. The time would pass quickly. He could keep himself occupied.

But, as he became more and more occupied by his thoughts, he lost track of his actions. The only thing that ultimately pulled Ari back into the moment was the loud keen of a police siren on his tail. Startled, Ari looked down at the speedometer—he was cruising along Lake Shore Drive at a speed nearly double the enforced limit. "Fuck!" he growled, braking carefully and angrily flicking on his turn signal to make his way over to the shoulder. His partner groaned and leaned forward to reach into the glove compartment, pulling out the registration as well as the "legal documentation" that came with the van. He passed both sheets to Ari as the vehicle came to a complete stop.

Grumbling, Ari quickly pulled out his wallet and fished through the small collection of licenses to find the one for Illinois, tucking it between his teeth momentarily to wedge the wallet back into his pocket. Then he gathered up all of the papers and the ID, dropped them into his lap, and draped both hands over the steering wheel to wait.

"Well, this ought to be fun," muttered the partner sardonically, sneaking a quick peek into the containment portion of the van once more. "She's still out cold, at least." Ari nodded wordlessly. That was good news—this would all be easier and faster if she just kept quiet.

A few minutes passed in silence as the two men waited for the police officer to get out of their car. Ari could feel his patience wearing thinner and thinner. He started to contemplate making a run for it. He knew he could ditch the cop. If he hadn't already made such a mess of their mission that day, he probably would have tried. Instead, he made a genuine effort to squelch his frustration—which was almost entirely self-directed—by thinking about how great he'd feel knowing that Ivy was trapped in the same building as him later that day, very much beholden to his whims.

Finally, after what felt like hours, a haggard-looking CPD officer stepped out of his patrol car and made his way forward to the driver's side window of Ari's van, apparently unaffected by the cold winter wind that blustered off the lake. Taking a deep breath, steeling himself to sound polite, and hating himself for getting caught in this situation, Ari rolled down the window and beamed at the officer.

"Good afternoon, sir," he said in a courteous manner, handing over his paperwork before he could be asked for it. "How are you today? Staying busy?"

The cop paused and accepted the papers, apparently surprised to encounter such a friendly future citation holder. "Good afternoon. Thanks for asking—I'm doing fine. Getting a little tired of the holiday season and how it makes city folk drive like they've got a light under their ass, though. On that note, are you aware of the speed limit for Lake Shore Drive?"

"Yes, sir. Forty miles per hour on the North Side. Forty-five on the South."

"And are you aware of how fast you were going, mister...?"

"Batchelder." Ari took a beat, deciding whether or not to play dumb. He concluded that stupidity would be a mistake here. "Yes, sir. I was going about eighty-five."

The officer nodded slowly, clearly pleased to not have to argue with a fool—it sounded like he'd spent the better part of his day doing so. "Yes, you were. Now, I'm sorry to spoil the fun, boys, but you were going more than twice the limit here. Under the new traffic law, that carries a lot more weight. I have to write you a ticket at least, and you'll probably end up going to court." _Ha. Right._ The citation would be deleted from the city's computer system before Ari even got back to the base. He and his partner nodded somberly as the officer instructed them to stay warm in the van while he returned to his car to run Ari's information. However, the officer returned sooner than he should have—it seemed he'd started reading before he'd even reached his patrol car. The moment Ari got the window back up, he was rolling it down again. The cop questioned, "'Knockout Kidnappings?'" before the window was completely open and brandished the extra sheet of paper.

Feigning a sheepish smile and cursing someone's stupid choice for their phony business's name, Ari explained. "Yes, sir. We work for a company that stages fake kidnappings. Simulated abductions can be ordered by the actual victim as an educational experience or by a friend as a prank, after proper vetting." He made air quotes around the words "kidnappings" and "victim" to emphasize just how corny the whole thing sounded and to make himself seem like an indifferent employee. "Paying clients can also request their preferred level of fear-induced trauma." More air quotes.

The officer just blinked at him from beneath two thick, furrowed eyebrows. He seemed skeptical, maybe a bit intrigued. Finally, he cleared his throat and prodded, "So, you mean to tell me that your actual _paying_ job is to kidnap strangers?" The two men in the van nodded. It wasn't exactly a lie, admittedly. "There's no way that's legal," muttered the cop, scratching his temple and glancing at the papers in his hand.

"I assure you, we only operate within our legal rights. Everything should be there, on that paper." Ari tilted his head to gesture at the sheet in the officer's hands and ignored the angry pounding of his heart.

The policeman nodded, and then his eyes drifted distrustfully to the back half of the van as he started to return to his patrol car. "Alright, well, sit tight while I…look into everything."

Sitting tight proved to be the hardest thing Ari had done that day. In thin silence, he and his partner waited. They each sighed. Ari didn't want to get into more small talk with his accomplice, so he let his mind wander, and as it did, he started to feel his meds wearing off—the telltale ache of his body was returning, seeping slowly into the cracks. Every single one of his muscles felt overexerted and stretched out like saltwater taffy. Turning his head strained every little tendon in his neck. His left knee was locking up, sticking stiffly in its bent position. Ari's back felt like it'd fallen prey to a road roller. His chest burned. He was getting sleepy. All of those aches and issues were pretty standard, but today they were compounded by the minor injuries that Ivy had managed to inflict. Ari's jaw and nose really were tender to the touch, and he was pretty sure she'd bruised some of his ribs with a kick. On top of that, he had a headache forming right behind his eyes, presumably from the way he'd fallen when she'd first lashed out…or possibly from one of the ways she'd hit him in the face.

Sighing again, Ari glanced at the timer of his watch. He still had a bit over an hour until he was due for another dose…but everything hurt so much, and his mood was already tanking from this legal snafu. He just wanted to go home, take a hot shower, and have his way with his new toy. He longed to feel good, or even to just feel kind of okay. So, he decided a premature pill couldn't hurt—in fact, taking one now was the obvious right answer. Ari pulled out the little bottle that he'd slipped into the van's console, popped out a single long, clear liquid capsule, and swallowed it dry.

The effect was almost instantaneous. His body felt warm and the aches and tension melted away, replaced by strength and renewed energy. His headache evaporated and his vision improved. His heart seemed to speed up for a moment before stabilizing as the tightness faded from his chest. Even his mood seemed to improve just a little bit, and he was ready for action.

Ari sucked in a deep breath, relishing the reprieve from his constant painful state. If he didn't have to think about it, he could usually ignore any pain, but just sitting in silence allowed his mind to become too aware. So, he decided, jumping the gun on his timer had been the right call. He'd only done that a handful of times in the past, but he'd never regretted it.

A few more minutes passed as conversational silence extended. The partner gulped down some more of his coffee, staring straight ahead out the window. Strong winter winds scooped up and redeposited bits of highway litter around them and made the van creak and sway noisily. Ari grew more and more irked as his mind continued to wander, and he was about to turn on the radio for a mediocre distraction when the policeman finally returned, papers in hand. Spotting the officer's approach in the side mirror, Ari rolled down the window and readily waited to accept his ticket and be on his way.

"Alright, boys. It sounded like bullshit, but it looks like your kidnapping outfit is legit. I can't imagine how that's legal, but…it'll just be the ticket today. Here." Understandably, the officer looked like he was questioning his worldview and understanding of the human condition as he handed back Ari's license and paperwork, along with a hefty ticket. Ari smiled in faux-resignation as he accepted the little paper stack, unsurprised by this legal conclusion.

"Thanks, sir. Sorry to add more work into your day." Sorrier that they'd wasted so much time.

"Well, it's my job. At least this stop has been educational. Just be smarter and stick to the speed limit, okay? Drive carefully." The cop was a bit pointed, probably as a symptom of the powerlessness that accompanies confusion. He patted Ari's door twice as a dismissal and turned, looking thrown. He walked back towards his car once more and Ari huffed in annoyance, crumpling the ticket into a ball and tossing it into the cup holder on the door as he put the window up and buckled his seatbelt. He reached for the gear shift, ready to continue their travels, and looked into the side mirror to prepare to merge. However, before he could go anywhere, he noticed the cop walking back to his window yet again.

"Ugh, what now!?" Ari growled, rapidly losing his patience at this point and exchanging a glance with his partner as he rolled the window down for what felt like the billionth time. He chomped down on the inside of his cheek to control his flared temper as the officer reached the window. "Yes?"

"Sorry to keep you," the cop muttered. "But…were you in the middle of a kidnapping? Is there someone in the back of your van?"

Ari took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the worst. If the cop wanted to see the inside of the van Ari would have to incapacitate him. That would just kick off an obnoxious chain of events that would take more of the time that he didn't want to give up. He'd have to deal with the officer's dashcam. He'd have to stage the whole encounter to look like a political statement. He'd have to decide whether or not to kill this man…"We were, yes, though it was completely voluntary on the victim's end. Why? You've seen our paperwork, you know that we have—"

"No, no, it's just that your back doors appear to be open now but they were latched when I pulled you over. If the locks are faulty, that might be a hazard for your—"

"What!?" Ari choked, spinning in his seat to look through the small barred window. The containment portion of the van was empty. She was gone. "What the hell—!?" He smashed the button on his seatbelt, releasing the metal clip roughly enough that it snapped back against the plastic frame of the door, leaving a tiny dent. Ari threw the door open and shoved the officer out of the way, false respect for authority eviscerated by circumstance. He dashed to the back of the van, his partner meeting him from the other side, and found that the double doors were visibly cracked. He yanked them open the rest of the way and hopped inside as if expecting to find her there anyway, somehow hidden in the exposed space. Instead, he just found the shackles she'd been in, empty. His eyes zeroed in on a small piece of metal on the floor, and he scooped it up with fast fingers—it was a long zipper pull-tab broken off of the winter coat he'd wrapped her in, bent at a 90-degree angle near one end. She'd picked the locks on her restraints, in addition to the lock on the van door.

How had she been so quiet?

_She's getting away, Ari. You need to follow her, quickly. _The Voice had been silent for quite a while, and it was incredibly annoying that it had decided to pipe up now only to say something so obvious.

_Yeah, no shit,_ Ari thought back hatefully. Panic and anxiety were already making a home in his chest as he leaped back out of the van and wheeled around, searching. The Voice didn't respond.

Ari's accomplice had dashed back to the cab and now returned with the tracking device. He mumbled something as he tapped buttons and twisted knobs. The screen lit up with a glowing grid and the partner held it up for Ari to see. Ari didn't really need the tracker—he'd already caught her scent—but the confirmation was good. He was out of practice, after all. So, he oriented himself and looked straight ahead in the direction of the rapidly moving red dot that represented Ivy on their map. She'd run into Navy Pier. It would've been a fantastic place to vanish if anyone else was pursuing her. Snarling and bracing himself for the sea of bumbling sightseers, Christmas shoppers, obnoxious children, and pesky vendors, Ari pushed his body into a brisk jog and dove into the humongous tourist trap, carelessly leaving the van parked on the shoulder and ignoring the shouts of the disgruntled police officer.


	3. Tourist Trapped

**CHAPTER 3 - TOURIST TRAPPED**

—

SUMMARY:

When Ivy woke up that morning, she really didn't expect her day to include a cutthroat game of hide-and-seek at Navy Pier and a refreshing dip in Lake Michigan. Getting kidnapped was a bit of a surprise too.

—

Everything ached, my head was spinning, my toes were frozen, and my heart was pounding. A stitch was starting to form in my side, too—I'd sprinted the distance from Ari's nightmare van across Polk Brothers Park, through the crowded main entrance, and up the stairs into the Crystal Gardens at a stumbling top speed, and apparently without breathing. Only there, gasping and whirling in that whimsical indoor garden, did I pause to check if I'd been followed before I slumped into an easily overlooked nook—a tiny alcove created by the cylindrical design of the cement palm tree planters.

That small nook had been one of my favorite spots to rest and decompress for years. I'd snuck in after the closing security sweeps and slept there many-a-time. Crystal Gardens had always had a soothing effect on me, too, especially in contrast with the majority of Navy Pier. I associated the gardens with rejuvenation and the life and compassion that I think you can sometimes feel emanating from well-loved trees. Today, however, the cement felt cold. I felt displaced, like I wasn't safe among the trees anymore. The warmth and happiness I usually sought in the single acre oasis were missing, and as the stitch in my side started to fade and my breathing returned to normal, I realized just how angry that made me.

The pounding of my heart had slowed a bit after my mad dash for freedom but it ratcheted right back up, transitioning smoothly from being fueled by fear and physically strenuous activity to being fueled by resentment and hate.

_Batchelder, _I thought, raging within. That was Ari's last name, apparently, according to the bothersome snippets of conversation I'd overheard. _Why does that sound familiar? _Something about the name made my stomach flip and contort. Had I met Ari before and just repressed that memory too? Did I know a different Batchelder?

I glanced down at my wrists compulsively and couldn't resist rubbing them with a scowl. There were red indentations encircling each one—they'd cinched those handcuffs pretty tight. Even if I'd broken or dislocated my thumbs, it would've been impossible to slip my hands out. Besides, that wouldn't have done my ankles any good.

Truth be told, I owed my escape to Lady Luck. It seemed that Ari and his apparent partner had slipped me into a gigantic men's winter coat to keep me comfortable in the back of their van—a funny notion, in light of the fact that they'd also shackled me to the floor. Luckily though, they'd left the coat unzipped. I'd woken up sideways on the paddywagon floor, head bouncing roughly on cold metal and shoulders aching from the awkward angle they were forced to keep, but the pull-tab was just within reach and perfectly malleable. The interruption from the baffled cop had given me the distraction I'd needed to pick all the locks and make a break for it… And now I was here, hoping my luck would last just a little bit longer.

Sighing, I looked down to examine the coat. It was slashed open across the chest—were those claw marks?—and tufts of white, synthetic polyester were sticking out. _Honestly, I'm just glad it's not filled with down. _It was gigantic, and that, combined with the new lack of functional zipper, left it looking more like a raggedy camping tent than a suitable outer layer. Although I would definitely stand out in Navy Pier, I was more concerned with how easy it would be for Ari to spot me if I continued to walk about looking like a mangled teddy bear. I would have ditched the coat right then and there, but only had the camisole on beneath—my battered, achy wings would be visible if I didn't find a replacement layer to cover up. Looked like I'd be stealing a few more things that day.

Thinking logically put out the fires of my rage, which turned out to be a bad thing. Rage had been keeping me warm, and despite the presence of the janky coat, I started to shiver and my body started to stiffen.

_Steal something cozy, _I noted, twisting painfully and peering around. No one nearby looked suspicious, and miraculously no one had noticed me yet. Ari was nowhere to be seen—I knew it was impossible, but I was holding out a little hope that he'd just driven away without noticing my escape. The idea of him arriving at his intended destination only to discover an empty van cheered me up, at least. I smiled deviously, pulling myself to my feet and ignoring the way my vision swam from the sudden motion. _It'll pass. You're just dizzy because you haven't eaten. Get clothes, then get food. _Joints creaking, I made my back down into the bowels of the pier, hunting for an overcrowded or under-staffed souvenir shop.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn't hard to find one.

The holidays were just around the corner and Navy Pier pulled in a lot of shoppers, diners, and families seeking affordable fun, so nearly every inch of public space was overcrowded, and just about every shop was under-staffed.

My luck held out though, and things got even easier—a tired-looking middle-aged woman was standing just inside one of the top-rated souvenir shops, inspecting a spinning kiosk of magnets, keychains, and bottle openers with a level of scrutiny comparable to that of a professional gemologist. Beside her left foot sat three huge, full-to-the-brim bags from three separate pier shops. One of the shops specialized in T-shirts and apparel, and I could see a grey sleeve peeking out the top of its designated bag.

Mentally thanking whoever decided to make Christmas a capitalist holiday, I leaned in next to the woman, bending low and close over her bags to inspect the magnets beside her and letting the lapels of the coat swing out like curtains over a stage. I extended my right hand slowly towards a random magnet and watched her head swivel to follow the motion of my arm. Her eyebrows lifted—was I reaching for the item she wanted? While she watched my right hand like a hawk, I stuck my left hand down, beneath me, and into the tall T-shirt bag. My fingers found soft purchase, and I lifted out the long-sleeved thing smoothly, tucking it behind a floppy lapel of my disaster coat. Just before my right-hand fingers tapped a magnet, I pulled back and turned to the left, slipping away from the woman. She seemed none the wiser though her body language suggested relief—I hadn't taken her potential future purchase.

Glancing around cautiously to make sure no one had witnessed my sleight of hand, I slunk back into the main hall. And that was that. Once far enough away from that shop, I looked at my newly acquired item and found it to be a very standard, grey hoodie emblazoned with a stylized version of the Chicago flag across the chest. Perfectly average. Plus, it was an extra-large—ideal for hiding bulky folded wings. Satisfied, I made my way across the hall and up a bit, aiming for the nearby washroom. I needed a moment to change and clean myself up. I looked around surreptitiously once more, still feeling hopeful that Ari hadn't noticed my disappearance. Even if he had, he was smart enough not to pursue me into a women's restroom, right? Frowning as I remembered the repercussions of my last assumption of his probable behavior, I paused. Only then did I realize that the people who passed near me were sneaking looks at my face before tearing their gaze away in embarrassment. A little boy finally just stopped walking entirely and stared, head cocked and wearing a confused frown.

_Damnit, now what?_ Suddenly feeling like a pariah—not a great feeling in general, but especially not when you're actively trying to be invisible—I slunk backward into the bathroom. By some miracle, it wasn't packed. Most of the stalls were full, but no one was at the sink, so I took the opportunity to inspect my face in the mirror and immediately saw what was drawing so much unwanted attention. _Oh. That._ A substantial amount of dried blood was caked across my face, centered around my nose and lower lip. That wasn't so weird. _It's probably weirder to people who don't often get their face stomped on by thousand-dollar red bottoms_, I thought, scowling. Gazing at my bedraggled and bloody-faced reflection, I was forced to acknowledge the fears and pain I'd been suppressing once more. I'd managed to escape the clutches of my creators' goons, but my hope that Ari wouldn't notice me missing was naïve. This reprieve couldn't last. They knew what I looked like, how I lived, where to find me. They knew where I'd come from, had probably figured out everything that I'd done. Even if I managed to slip into the crowds of the pier, disguised as just another tourist, my luck would run out.

Choking back the panic that was brewing inside me with some slow, steady breathing, I leaned down over the sink and splashed cold water onto my face. Flaky bits of brownish-red dried blood liquified and tinted the water flowing down the drain. After a minute or so of deliberate but gentle washing, I lifted my head again. My face was much cleaner and blood free, but the glow-up ended there. I looked like a walking disaster. The skin that the mask of blood had hidden was beginning to bruise—_will the bruises be shaped like a footprint?_ Sleep had challenged me for days, so those contusions blended seamlessly into the aubergine circles under my eyes. My hair screamed "feral." I was so hungry that my body had passed through sending me hunger signals and into consuming its reserves. I could see the associated weakness of forced fasting—along with the resulting aches of my minor combat injuries, of course—reflected in my limp and saggy posture. On top of all of that, I just looked dirty. For the sake of my mall robbery cover and my dignity, I'd managed a shower that morning, but apparently, I picked up some fresh filth during my time spent rolling around on the ground with Ari. A chill that was settling into my body and my pale skin tone did me no favors either. At least my freckles were intact.

_If… When you get out of this, you need a spa day,_ I concluded, falsely optimistic—amazing how just a little bit of denial, anger, and having escaped Ari had made me hopeful again. Then, the handicap stall in the far corner opened, and I slipped in as soon as the previous user popped out. The larger stall was ideal—I needed room to examine my wings and assess the damage Ari had done to them. Although the mangled wing still felt somewhat numb, they both felt uncomfortable and awkward in a way that made me think I at least needed to ruffle and refold them more smoothly. Probably falling backward onto them from the "L" hadn't helped—they just seemed stiff and stuck in place.

After sparing a moment to use the toilet, I slipped out of the gigantic winter coat, ignoring the cold chills, swimming vision, and painful aches rippling through my body with every movement, and craned my head over my shoulder to look at my wings.

They felt stiff and stuck in place for a real reason.

A flash of fresh hatred and anger rippled through me in perfect tandem with a flash of nausea and dread. Ari and his goon had duct-taped my wings together. They hadn't even bothered to fold them correctly or fix the funky one first.

I was torn between wanting to scream and demolish the washroom wall with my fists, curl up in a ball in the corner and sob my guts out, go on a murderous rampage and hunt Ari down, and dive for the toilet to vomit. As if kinking my wing, which probably implied a break in the bones, hadn't been enough—_duct tape!_ Only more measured breaths helped me fight back the tears of anger and hurt. At least my body started to warm up again with fury. Pacing hazily in the stall, I decided not to act on any of my whims. Doing anything that might satisfy me at that moment could also expose me—I needed to get out. I could rage later. Right now, I needed to be functional and stick to my plan: get clothes, get food, get out of town.

The hoodie wouldn't lay right if I didn't fold my wings properly, so I reached behind my back clumsily and found the end of the duct tape wrap. Then I yanked, and the painful sting of ripping feathers brought tears to my eyes and a shriek to my throat. It was like getting a Brazilian wax, but with the pain multiplied by a million. After pausing briefly to stuff the sleeve of the gross winter coat into my mouth as a gag, I continued to rip the tape off in short tugs. Rip. Whimper. Rip. Whine.

_ Suck it up, _I commanded. _It's not that bad._ It was that bad._ Think happy thoughts. _I started to daydream just a little bit about dunking Ari's wings in tar.

It took far too long to remove it, and my arms got tired from bending back behind me like that, but finally, finally, the tape came free. I stared down at it where it lay limply in my hands—a silvery-grey length of three or four feet, covered in my beautiful primary coverts and the moisture that had leaked from my eyes.

A good old-fashioned tarring wasn't punishment enough.

Blinking back tears, I wadded up the feather-covered duct tape and stuffed it into the sanitary disposal box on the wall, sparing a thought for the confused custodian who would ultimately find it. Even though moving my funky wing was probably a mistake, they both just felt so tight—I opened them a fraction with extreme caution and shook them out quietly. It seemed to help, and tension faded from my back. Refolding the wings correctly also alleviated some of the discomfort, though the damaged wing still stuck out a bit more than normal. Fixing it was a bigger problem and one I would face later and in a safer, secluded location.

Wings now folded, I pulled on the Chicago flag hoodie. It was an appropriately gigantic extra large, and the lining was that kind of synthetic fleece that makes you want to nap for a decade as soon as it brushes against you. It felt so pleasant on my bare skin that I could nearly overlook how soggy my socks still were within my boots. I gave myself a sort of hug, reveling in the warmth, and then reached up to adjust the little hoodie ties at the throat. However, my fingers found something hard and I recoiled. The damn stolen necklace was still hanging there. Why had Ari put it on me anyway? The way he'd done so had been incredibly creepy and suggestive. Maybe that was the extent of it—he'd wanted to freak me out. Or was it a twisted consolation prize? I rolled my eyes, angrily reaching for the clasp at the nape of my neck and preparing to flush the expensive piece down the toilet.

Abruptly remembering that I'd need money to get out of the city, I paused and ultimately left the necklace on where it was. It was probably safest there and less suspicious if I wore it anyway. If… No_, when_ I got out of Navy Pier, I would head straight to my most reliable pawnshop and make some fast money off the item.

Leaving the large winter coat behind, I slipped out of the stall and made my way back to the sinks and mirrors. My reflection looked a little bit better, maybe not as defeated, but I was still barely passable as a regular tourist. Sighing in displeasure, I reached up to try and comb my hair out with my fingers but froze as a nearby woman spoke. "Would you like to use my brush?" she said in a friendly fashion. I turned to look at her—above average height, warm brown hair, brown eyes, tan skin, probably in her early 30s, dressed for a nice day exploring the city—and saw that she was holding up a little purse-sized brush and smiling.

Altruism generally made me suspicious and usually for good reason… But her eyes seemed genuine, and despite wracking my brain, I couldn't come up with any reason for someone who intended to kill me to also be kind enough to help me groom.

"Uh, sure…thanks," I accepted, plastering on a jovial smile. "I really appreciate it. My hair pretty much looks like a bird nested in it." Hah. Irony. She chuckled as I worked the little brush through my hair, gently undoing tangles and knots from the ends to the roots.

"It's not that bad," she reassured, turning to face her reflection in order to more coherently apply lipstick. Her accent was interesting. Somewhat Southern, maybe? She was most likely a tourist, or at least not a homegrown Chicagoan—no distinctive vowel shift and a significant twang. "You should've seen mine last night. I went out with some friends for a bachelorette party, but by the time we got back to our hotel I'm pretty sure I looked like I'd just gone skydiving." She half-laughed at her own joke and so did I, though mostly because I did just go "skydiving," and that had contributed to my disastrous hair.

"At least that's probably a sign of a good party?" I joked back, reflexively trying to carry the conversation.

"It was a pretty good party, yes." She grinned, finishing up her lipstick and then turning to face me casually. "Have you noticed that almost all the hot guys in this city are crazy tall? Or did I imagine that?"

It was such a weird question and a funny thing to notice, but as I considered, mind briefly jumping to Ari before returning to the normal men I encountered, I couldn't help but agree. "Hadn't actually noticed that before, but you're totally right."

"Right? Felt like I was talking to the skyscrapers all night. Your hair is a really nice color, by the way. Is that natural?"

Although I was a little thrown by that question, I tried to respond smoothly. "Oh, yeah, completely natural…and naturally a mess." She chuckled again as I finished combing. My smoothed hair made a drastic improvement to my appearance—I finally looked human, at least, and less like the burning bush. Passing her brush back, I smiled at the woman. "Thank you again. It was so nice of you to offer." Maybe it was a stress response or some crazy hormones, but I suddenly felt choked up. A random human had been nice to me for absolutely no reason, with nothing to gain. That was so rare.

"Of course!" she replied brightly, unaware of her impact. "Truth be told, you look like you're having a rough day. It was the least I could do." Ah. Perceptive.

Smiling ruefully and shrugging off her kindness, I muttered, "Boy troubles," like that covered it. At that point, the conversation was becoming aimless, and yet I was quite willing to drag it on. Was I trying to delay the inevitable: that I'd have to leave the restroom and face potential danger again? Well, yes. But it was just so pleasant to talk to someone who treated me like I was worth more than the money I could save her.

"Well, I'm sure he doesn't deserve you," she teased. _You better believe it, Sis._ "Don't let him bring you down." Was it possible to simply shrug off the massive bummer of being hunted down and most likely murdered? She made me want to think so, at least. I guess my face betrayed my doubt for her positivity because she continued in a dramatic tone. "Seriously, it's a waste of time and energy. You're too young to be unhappy. You have so much life ahead of you, and you should make the most of it!" I had to stifle a laugh at how unlikely her assumptions of my lifespan were. This was beginning to feel like a drunk-girl-bathroom-moment, except I was painfully sober, as was this friendly tourist. Still, my squelched laugh must've changed my expression just enough to convince her that her message had been received.

Unsure of how to respond, I murmured, "You're absolutely right. Thank you."

"You are very welcome," she replied, sounding satisfied. Then, grinning again, she reached into her bag. My muscles tensed as I watched her hands—was she reaching for a weapon? "Hey, okay, I know this is weird, but I got sucked into a pyramid scheme recently and now I have all this makeup that I don't want." She rolled her eyes, and I started to calm down when she pulled out a little golden tube of something. "Giving it away is making me feel great about myself, though, so please take some. This lipstick would go really well with your complexion and hair color. It's called 'poppy prerogative.'" As absurd as the situation was, I genuinely laughed. She was surprisingly self-aware, and she spoke to me with the facetious comfort that I imagined she shared with her real friends.

Though handouts—as a basic form of altruism—also typically made me suspicious, makeup of any sort would further my ability to blend into the crowds. So, uncertainly, I accepted the little tube she was offering.

"Thank you again! This sounds like a fun color."

"Oh, it is. Until you've received about thirty sticks of it in the mail." She shook her head, seemingly scolding herself. "Anyway, I've got to catch up with my friends. Enjoy! And remember, life is too short! Don't waste your time on a man who doesn't make you happy! Have a good day!" With an awkward little wave, she left, and I sucked in a breath, accepting that that odd but cordial conversation might have been one of my last extended ones with a human being. Turning back to face my exhausted looking reflection again, I exhaled.

As it turned out, "poppy prerogative" was a pretty cute color, and the way it highlighted the curves of my mouth made me look kind of, sort of like a real adult. It at least made me look different, which was all that currently mattered. However, I realized that the bright pigment on my lips made my face look more lackluster and beat in contrast, so I smudged a little lipstick on my fingertips and then rubbed it into my cheeks like a blush. That did the trick—I had less of a "walking dead" vibe, at least.

Disguise satisfactorily complete, and with loathing still lapping at my heart, I took another deep breath and prepared to face reality in the hallway of the pier. Now that the bathroom had closed behind me, I realized just how peaceful it'd been in comparison to the sheer volume—of noise, people, and so on—that hit me in the hall. No one was staring at me now, thankfully, but I still slunk along the wall and avoided eye contact as I tried to clear my head and get my bearings. Every time I stepped too quickly, though, my eyes crossed a little—I was either absolutely starving or had a concussion. Maybe both. Both would pass, especially if I could find food, so I decided to angle towards the food court. However, as I left the wall and wedged myself into the flow of pedestrian traffic, my tired eyes scanned the crowd, and reality faced me.

Ari was standing not thirty feet ahead, leaning casually against the opposite wall. His head was cocked to the side, his hair was (quite literally) windswept, his mouth was pulled up in the corners to form a smirk, and his amber eyes were locked on mine. Heart suddenly slamming around inside my ribcage, I froze.

Foot traffic flowed around me—between us—as my panic grew. Denial and wishful thinking had made a fool of me again. I thought I'd lost him, thought I stood a chance at vanishing. Whether or not I'd briefly ditched him, he'd found me again in a blink, through the closed doors of a restroom no less, and he was clearly not misled by my new outfit in the slightest.

But he wasn't making any moves now—he was just waiting. Watching me and waiting. _Waiting for what?_ I wondered, taking a slow step backward to test him. He didn't budge to follow, just winked. Only luck and chance clued me in—a teenage boy, hand lost in his girlfriend's, walked directly into me from behind, jostling me to the side without the slightest acknowledgment. I spun, eyes ripped away from Ari and landing instead on another man, also sporting a suit, who was moving quickly towards me from the other side of the hall. He'd come from right beside the washroom and jerked to an abrupt halt when he realized that I'd spotted him.

Though I hadn't yet seen him, this had to be Ari's partner from the van. He was comparably attractive though somehow more generic, and he had the same air of entitled disregard for the public. Plus, one of his hands was wedged into his suit jacket pocket in a very suspicious and worrisome way.

So, they'd not only found me but had managed to box me in. My eyes darted between the two of them in terror—Ari was off the wall and standing upright now, smirk wiped away, eyes narrowed, and body tense. The other man waited for some unknown cue. For a few seconds that stretched on like hours, we were all still, all eyeing each other. Those seconds were all I needed to throw together a ramshackle plan to escape—it was a plan that relied entirely on my knowledge of Navy Pier's layout, but I was confident that I stood a chance if I could just lose them once more. Plus, in this crowd, I had a slight advantage that I suspected they did not—I was small, allowing for easy movement, and no one cared about me.

As if trying to prove me right in the realm of advantages, Ari made the first move. Gaze still fixated on me, he lunged carelessly into the crowd and immediately got stuck in a gaggle of young women, including my friend from the washroom. So, he must've just walked into the bachelorette party. At any other time, it might've been hilarious to watch. Ari's face shifted through what I interpreted as cold focus into outrage into amusement into discomfort into annoyance at lightning speed as the women scoffed at being bumped into so aggressively, then realized the undeniable appeal of their interrupter, then instinctively swarmed and unintentionally trapped him. He was pushing them aside with all the finesse of a dog fending off fleas, but he'd looked away from me.

Ari's partner was faring a bit better—although he still had to fight to cut through the shopping flow, he was only a few paces away. My escape route was so close, but if he could watch me leave it wouldn't matter that I'd vanished. I needed a distraction and I searched desperately, trying to come up with any ideas that might slow him down. Finally, rashly, I settled on an embarrassing tactic that I'd never in my life expected to use but had learned from a 90s comedy. Would it work in real life? We'd find out. The partner was feet away, one hand outstretched and one still inside his jacket, when I lifted my arm and swung down hard, flat palm connecting with a passing stranger's ass. The echoing clap made me wince, and my adversary pulled up short, his well-defined jaw dropping. The nondescript man I'd spanked jolted forward before whirling around to see his violator. His eyes fell on me and I pointed at the other goon, who threw his hands up and shook his head. That was all it took. As the two men dove into an awkward confrontation, I glanced once more at Ari—who was almost free of his surprise admirers but still looking away—and fled, slinking through the crowd sans-difficulty and zipping up one of the frequently overlooked side staircases.

Going up as quickly as I did made me dizzy, but I had to put some distance between us. Once upstairs, I cut across Crystal Gardens again and hooked towards the Children's Museum, ducking into the second-floor entrance and heading for the staircase. I had intended to simply pass through the museum and circle back to where I'd just been, throwing Ari for a loop. Instead, however, my vision swam again and an odd wave of nausea washed over me.

_ You need to hide and rest for a minute,_ I thought hazily, crossing into one of the kids' climb zones. An adult like myself lurking without a child in the children's museum would be suspicious. _Find somewhere _good_ to hide!_ I'd explored the museum at night enough to have an idea, so I sloppily made my way to the schooner. By some miracle, the exhibit was nearly empty; it was a weekday, and most schools were still in session. Maybe that was enough. Either way, only a handful of kids were zooming around, and only a few miscellaneous parents and guardians lingered, all chatting happily with each other. For a second, it felt just like a dog park.

While no one was looking directly at me, I made my way to the staircase, scaled it slowly, hooked a left, ducked into the narrow rope tube, and climbed up to the right side crow's nest. Once inside, I leaned sideways against the wall of the nest and slid to the ground, certain that no one had watched me sneak in and that no children were nearby. My vision didn't seem to swim quite as much when I was still, but a growing sense of dizziness was not dispelled by my inactivity. In fact, the longer I sat, the more aware I became of ringing in my ears and a growing headache behind my eyes.

So, for the second time that day, I was forced to acknowledge that being hungry was not the root of all my problems. Earlier, I'd attributed the grumbling of my stomach to hunger and denied my instincts about the fishy circumstances of the mall robbery. Now I'd tried to deny the extent of damage that Ari had dealt. I was definitely concussed.

_If I could just take a little nap… _I thought, head rolling against the wooden plank wall of the crow's nest. My healing factor was usually pretty good, it seemed. Almost all of my injuries would probably mend quickly if I could just get some deep, restorative sleep. It'd been so long since I'd had a night like that. _Maybe Ari and his friend won't find me that quickly. Maybe I have time for a nap. Honestly though, would they even think to check the children's museum?_ I knew I was rationalizing my desire to pass out, but logic would suggest to my pursuers that I would take the opportunity of their distraction to flee Navy Pier altogether. If I were smart, I would've already hailed a cab and hit the road… _Wait, why _didn't_ I do that?_

Loud, rhythmic thumping startled my eyes open, and only then did I realize that they had been closed. A little girl, probably around the age of eight and sporting a very glittery tutu and a gaudy pirate's hat, climbed into the crow's nest and came to an awkward halt when she spotted me. Smiling reassuringly (I hoped) and giving her a thumbs up, I mentally prayed she'd keep moving. Instead, of course, she spoke: "What are you doing?"

"Playing hide-and-seek," I responded, putting a finger up to my lips to imply secrecy.

"Oh," she replied, giving me a thumbs up in return. Then she ducked out the other side of the nest towards the next section of the climbing structure. _Alrighty, then. That was easy._ I sighed in relief and let my head dip to the side again, trying to ignore what seemed like a gong echoing in my mind. I felt worse now than I had after first escaping Ari's van—were the symptoms of my probable concussion manifesting more aggressively in response to my growing anxiety? Or just from the continued strenuous activity? Either way, it didn't matter if I couldn't get far, far away from Ari and his partner.

The thumping sound returned then, and I sucked in a panicked breath. To my intense relief, however, it was just the little girl again, passing back through my nest. "Are you hiding from a boy?" she asked in a teasing tone.

My heart skipped a beat. "Maybe. Why?"

"Because I think he's about to find you!" Then, wearing a gleefully naïve grin, she pointed back in the direction she'd come from. Trying to remember to breathe, I leaned forward and twisted ever so slightly to see past the girl and over towards the second, lower crow's nest. He hadn't reached that nest yet, but sure enough, there was Ari, methodically making his way across the suspension bridges on the other side of the room in long strides, working his way up and over. He looked incredibly out of place on the structure—like a giant in a land of tinkertoys—but somehow still completely at home and confident in his trajectory.

He knew where I was.

Rolling away from the nest exit silently and ignoring the giggles of the little girl, who seemed to think I was just on a hilarious date, I started to scoot backward toward the rope tube, hoping to sneak away. One foot already extended behind me, I reached out for purchase on the frame of the tube. What I thought was a sturdy foothold, unfortunately, turned out to be a hand, which closed tightly around my soggy toes and yanked me backward. With a screech of shock, my body slid across the floor of the crow's nest and I slammed hard onto my elbows, head spinning. Thankfully, instinct kicked in—pun totally intended—and my other foot flailed and connected wildly with what must've been Ari's partner's head. A grunt sounded from below and behind me, and my foot came free. Nails clawing into the boards of the crow's nest, I scrambled to my feet and looked back in Ari's direction. He had reached the other nest and was peering up at me from the bottom of the rope tube slide between us, wearing a wicked grin. His partner's hand reached up and over the edge of the base of the nest a few feet away. They'd boxed me in again.

_Shit, shit, shit, _I thought, quickly eyeing the little pirate; she seemed miraculously unfazed by this whole thing, and I decided not to worry about her. There were more pressing concerns. Ari had begun to climb up the rope slide, his broad shoulders hunched so he could fit. His partner's forehead crested over the edge of the boards, followed by his eyes. I groaned. Quarters were too close for a fight, and I wouldn't win it anyway. Plus, the girl might get caught in the middle of a battle and could end up getting hurt. I could try and dive headfirst down the slide and just hope for the best against Ari. Maybe he'd get stuck. I could kick his partner in the face and jump him in the tube, but we'd both get stuck in there for sure.

That left only one escape route. _'She's strong. Much stronger than she thinks she is,'_ Ari had said in the van. Perhaps it was time to put that strength into action. I reached out in front of me and grabbed hold of the rope safety netting that circled the upper edge of the crow's nest. It made my whole body ache, but I ripped those ropes apart like an old rag. The shredding sound was jarring and my hands got rope burn instantly, but as soon as I'd torn a hole large enough, I pulled myself up and slipped through it.

The drop back down to the first floor was easily thirty feet, and my landing was pathetic. Dizziness and diminished coordination threw off what would have already been a challenge—I touched down on my toes but pitched forward, remarkably managing to roll instead of falling flat on my face. Somersaulting didn't prove to be fantastic either—the revolution ended with me crashing hard onto my back, my wings squishing closed further beneath my hoodie. Moaning and peering through blurry eyes, I caught sight of Ari up above. He was quickly scrabbling backward out of the rope slide, distant face undeniably frustrated. His accomplice was nearing the top of the stairs.

Still moaning, I stumbled to my feet and ran, pushing past the gaggle of worried parents who had noticed my fall and were now rushing to my aid. They all came up short, baffled as I zipped by. My sprint out of the children's museum was not graceful—my balance seemed to be fading fast and I quite literally bounced off of multiple walls, but I made it out and managed to rush down the main hall, through the crowds, and back into the shopping center of the pier.

At this point, the only course of action that made sense was to dip out of Navy Pier and head into the city, so, of course, I didn't do that. Truth be told, I genuinely didn't think I could make it back through Polk Brothers Park quickly enough to be safe—it was such an exposed space, and my body was feeling progressively weaker and slower. I knew that how I ripped the safety netting would have probably appeared fairly effortless to a bystander, but that desperate action had sapped a surprising amount of my energy, and the fall to the ground hadn't helped. So, if fighting and/or outrunning my hunters had seemed like a challenge before, it felt nearly impossible now. If I wanted to survive, I needed to hide—hide somewhere better than before, try to get a little rest. Sleep would be ideal, but even just sitting for a few minutes to let my head stop spinning would be helpful. If I could find food, I'd fare even better.

Thinking about food reignited the frustration I felt at the outcome of this day. Only a couple of hours earlier, I had been planning to celebrate that day's successful theft with a Chinese buffet for dinner. For half a second, I wondered if Ari would take me out for Chinese as a last supper if I just gave up and turned myself in. Didn't seem very likely, so I resolved to keep fighting for my life and my future meals.

As I got closer to the food courts, the crowds grew denser. I started to bounce off of people and was finally forced to slow down. My neck was covered in goosebumps, though, so I kept turning around to look over my shoulder, eyes searching for Ari in the crowd. If he was on my trail, he wasn't close by, so I let myself match the speed of the market hall visitors and tried to hobble as little as possible. My head spun, but the smells of fast food filled my nose and I groaned, startling a stranger nearby.

With the intention of both hiding and finding food, I slipped into one of the more upscale restaurants and made a beeline straight for the kitchen door. Of course, I didn't look like I belonged on the waitstaff, but you'd be surprised how many people just accept your weird behavior if you act confident enough. I was quite confident that I needed to be in the kitchen.

It only worked because no one was lingering near the door to stop me. No one was lingering just inside, either. Two cooks were working over a big skillet further in, and they both had their backs to the room. They had set out a few plates for their servers to pick up, and my eyes fell heavily on a massive meat-filled sandwich of some sort. I think I drooled. I snatched up the plate without a sound and at a speed faster than I'd probably moved in hours, and carried it further into the kitchen, towards the dry storage room that was adjacent to the service doors. In the storage room, I wedged myself and my sandwich into a small pocket of space created by some shelves and boxes of alcohol. It wasn't a smart spot—I could be cornered in this room quite easily—but it would do.

That sandwich was the most satisfying one I'd ever eaten. It had at least three different types of meat and a perfect amount of cheese. The bread was soft and flavorful, and something else in the sandwich was just spicy enough to make me sniffle with sinus-clearing delight. The only downside was that chewing moved the muscles in my face in a way that revealed somewhat more pain from Ari's Louboutin kick, but it was worth it.

Eating when you're starving, cold, achy, and trying to hide from an executioner just hits different. The only thing that could have improved the meal would be an accompanying cup of coffee.

After inhaling the sandwich and feeling my stomach fill up, I set the plate down on the shelf beside me and closed my eyes—they needed a few minutes of rest. Even though I was in the dry storage and not a refrigerated part of the kitchen, shivers started to creep over me as the chill returned. The goosebumps spread from my neck to my arms. I rubbed my chest rapidly with my palm to try and warm up, but it hardly did anything and I resigned myself to the fact that I was just damn cold.

At least I could rest. And for about seven whole minutes, I did.

Then, voices carried down the hall from the kitchen. Familiar ones. Ari and his partner were speaking with the two cooks and maybe one of the servers. My heart started pounding again, and I stood up and crept towards the service doors as reticently as possible. The voices were getting louder—someone was yelling now. I pushed on the bar of the door and it made a loud click. The voices cut short, and without further hesitation, I took off.

The next half hour or so felt a little like a scene from a cartoon—if I could have sat back and been the viewer of my own chase scene, it would have looked a lot like a clip from Scooby-Doo. You know, those moments where the heroes zoom past the screen so many times that you lose track of which direction they're coming or going, but you know that the villain is right on their tail? As I hid for the fifth time, I realized that if I could've filmed this whole thing in a time-lapse and overlaid it with some funky ragtime music, it might've been funny.

As it was, I was exhausted. It wasn't funny. Every time I thought I found a safe place to pause, and catch my breath, and steady my dizzy mind, Ari and his partner showed up right behind me. It didn't make sense—especially because I kept checking over my shoulder and I never saw them on my tail, so how did they always know where I was going?

When I fled capture again and half-ran, half-limped towards a sixth hiding spot, I passed a glittering jewelry kiosk and had a mortifying thought—_the necklace!_ I dropped to my knees in my new spot, ignoring the chill I couldn't shake (despite all the damn cardio I was getting), the aches of my body, and the heaviness of my head, and reached up to undo the clasp on the stolen $115,000 necklace. Once off, I ran my fingers over it, searching and breathing fast—sure enough, stuck to the back of one of the diamond and ruby clusters was a small, flat, muted gold square about half the size of my pinkie fingernail.

I used GPS trackers fairly often to trail moving targets in commissions, but I'd never in my life seen one that tiny. Could it be possible? Or was this something else? My stomach twisted with annoyance as I realized that Ari and his partner might not have been working hard to follow me at all—they probably had a screen with them that relayed the location of the necklace. It would be as easy as looking at a map. They didn't even have to run—they just had to wait for me to stop moving.

"Ugh, you're an idiot!" I muttered, cursing myself for blowing off my earlier suspicion as fury bubbled up within me again. If I was right, I'd wasted so much time and energy for absolutely nothing and all because I wasn't willing to flush away a chance to make some money. I hated Ari and his partner and the people who had made me like this. I hated myself. Most of all, I hated this day. But, as I took my thousandth "calming" breath in the last five minutes, I realized that I finally had a slight advantage. If I was right—and I was about to test my theory—about the GPS tracker in the necklace, I suddenly stood a real chance of ditching my stalkers.

My upset faded away and was replaced with a gleeful smile that stretched my face somewhat uncomfortably. Diamond necklace crumpled in my fist, I came out of hiding. Ari and company were nowhere to be seen, and the jewelry kiosk was just a short stroll away, through another crowded chunk of the hallway. When I reached it, I met the eyes of the young vendor who sat in a folding chair and held an iPad, locked and loaded with a Square for card-swiping.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" he asked politely, hopeful of a sale.

"Nope, just looking," I replied, still smiling. The jewelry here was mostly kitschy, touristy stuff, like little rhinestone dolphins and gold-plated bars with "I Heart Chicago" stamped on them. Stuff I would've gladly stolen for fun but didn't actually need.

"Alright. Let me know if I can help." The man smiled and then looked back at his iPad. _Oh, you can help, my friend. _I looped around to the far side of the kiosk and checked to make sure the peddler was still engrossed in his entertainment. He was, so I reached out and quickly hung my expensive bauble up on one of the stands, mixed in with some little red lollipops on silver chains—the rubies and platinum of the stolen necklace blended in perfectly.

With a friendly but dismissive nod to the man, I left and dizzily tottered my way down the hall to a little recess in the wall near the entrance to WBEZ. It was shadowy, but it had a clear view of the jewelry kiosk and everything else within a 180-degree radius—it would be impossible for anyone to sneak up on me.

Sighing and patting my cheeks to warm them and stimulate wakefulness, I waited and prayed that the two men had truly been tracking me through the necklace and not some other transmitter stashed on my person.

It wasn't such a long wait, but it felt like one. At last, Ari and his ally came into view. They were walking slowly, deliberately, but pushing through crowds recklessly as they sauntered in my direction. The partner held a thick device about the size of a phone, and his eyes flicked back and forth between the thing and what was ahead. Ari was scanning the crowd, head swiveling and eyes narrowed, so I held my breath and pressed my body as far into the recess as possible while still maintaining a clear line of sight.

_Please stop. Please. They're getting close. Please let this work. Please let me be right._

The partner threw his hand up, signaling a stop right as they came even with the jewelry kiosk. I blew out a puff of air in relief as Ari spun to face his accomplice. He snatched the little tracking device from his partner's hands and examined the display. Then he passed it back and wheeled on the young man in the folding chair. I couldn't hear what they said to each other, but after exchanging a few apparently unsatisfactory words, Ari shoved the man backward, sending him sprawling as his chair flipped and his iPad flew. I flinched, surprised that Ari had attacked a bystander. He'd made it pretty clear that he wasn't afraid of being spotted, but violence towards an innocent just seemed excessive. He didn't hold back at all, did he? If he'd been so willing to topple a vendor just for presumably knowing nothing of my whereabouts, had he hurt anyone else while in pursuit?

At that point, Ari's partner had somehow tracked the necklace down to the correct side of the spinning jewelry stand. He was bent over, rooting through lollipops. Ari was pacing—was that stress? Or just anger? The partner finally straightened and handed Ari the diamond bauble—it glittered, even from afar—which at least forced him to stop pacing. Ari's fist clenched around the necklace. He shoved it in his suit jacket pocket before abruptly lifting his right leg and front kicking the stand to the ground with a discordant clatter.

Everyone in the vicinity stopped and stared with expressions that revealed a mix of confusion, amusement, and unease. Of course, now that I wasn't in immediate danger, a security guard appeared and sidled up to the two angry-looking men—would the guard be safe? Should I try to intervene? As I watched, both Ari, who was running his fingers through his hair, and his partner reached for their inner jacket pockets, pulled out identical wallets, and flashed what I could only assume were fake badges. Too much power.

The guard thankfully backed down, though he couldn't help but glance at the demolished kiosk stand and the now outraged vendor. Ari snapped something, jerking a thumb over his shoulder authoritatively, and the guard sidestepped him to confront the young man. This whole thing was unfolding like an absurdly dramatic soap opera, and again, it would've been funny if I could've watched it from the comfort of a cozy couch. As it was, I was wrapt, anxiously waiting to see what would happen next when I should probably have been making an effort to flee. Then again, I had to be sure they couldn't track me any other way.

Ari started pacing in the small amount of space allotted by the freshly uprooted jewelry stand. His partner was running crowd control, ushering the staring passersby along with oddly calm arm motions and a neighborly smile, and the guard escorted the tchotchke peddler away quietly. I sighed, worry for the innocents alleviated, and watched with delight as Ari's morale fell apart. I definitely could and should have left at that point, but it was awfully satisfying to see him squirm, especially when I thought about the type of people he'd disappoint by losing me. _He's going to get his ass handed to him. _

All of a sudden, Ari came to a sharp standstill, body rigid and hands clenched in fists by his sides. He twisted a little, and the motion—or sudden general lack thereof—caught his ally's attention. Ari turned another step to his left, and that angled him almost directly at me. My breath hitched in my throat as I hazily focused on his face. His eyes were closed, jaw clenched, long lashes caressing his cheeks, and brow furrowed. Then, the funniest thing happened—his nose twitched.

_Did he…? Did he just sniff the air?_ I wondered, amused and intrigued like the fool that I was.

Ari's nose twitched again, and this time I watched his chest inflate. He _was_ sniffing.

My mouth fell open in disbelief—_could he really be scent tracking?—_right as his eyes snapped open and he zeroed in on my little alcove. Apparently, he really could be. _Holy shi—_

Ari took one jerky step in my direction, and I rocketed out of the recess and towards an exit onto Dock Street without a backward glance. There wasn't any point in trying to hide anymore, now that I knew Ari could track me by body scent. Although I'd encountered plenty of weird stuff before, that ability was one I'd never witnessed in anything but a properly trained hound. I knew from previous K-9 encounters that I could try to foul the track by dousing myself in some crazy perfume or something, but Ari's willingness to just demolish the kiosk in his frustration—while kind of funny—made me wonder just how much he'd lash out if anything else went wrong. Not to mention, how would he respond if things went right? If he caught me now, as angry as he was—would he execute me right in front of the growing Winter Wonderfest crowd? Would he kill anyone that got in the way?

Suddenly feeling paradoxically more invested in the wellbeing of the people around me than in my own survival, I realized that trying to outrun Ari and not just hide had finally become imperative. It was time to leave Navy Pier and draw him away from such a vulnerable crowd. So, I sprint-stumbled down Dock Street as fast as I could, ignoring the icy December wind that whooshed off the lake and weaving through short, huddled lines of people waiting for winter cruises. Admittedly, apart from how bitterly cold it was—cold enough to freeze the rim of the lake—it was a beautiful day for a cruise. The wind was strong enough to instill gorgeous, white-peaked waves in the black-blue water, and it was still bright out in a tolerably hazy way. Then again, the haziness might've just been related to my head injury.

My head was still pounding, but the fresh air seemed to help. I shot a look over my shoulder to see if I was being followed—I was; the partner was only a few hundred meters behind, and Ari must've been on his tail—and the rapid twist of my head made my vision spin and flip. Truth be told, I could hardly see where I was going now, but that didn't matter as long as I was moving. My joints popped and crunched as I begged them to move faster. I just had to maintain the lead a little longer. I'd get to Lakeshore Drive first, and from there I'd either jump in the nearest available cab or run recklessly through the roads until it became unsafe for Ari to follow. Maybe the police officer from before would still be there, by Ari's van—he'd listen to me, help me. There was no way in hell he'd believed all of the bullshit about legal kidnappings and whatnot. How could anyone fall for that?

I risked another glimpse over my shoulder and saw that the partner was still on my heels, but only marginally closer. Shutting my eyes to reduce the visual sway as I redirected my head forward again, I realized that that was strange. Why hadn't he caught up to me? He didn't seem to be exerting himself at all. His legs, as well as Ari's, were nearly twice the length of mine. Their stride alone gave them an obvious advantage to exert. Plus, I was probably only running at about half my top speed, and floundering so much that drunk-me could have fared better. So why didn't he close the distance between us and catch me? Not that I wanted him to, of course, but it didn't make sense. Why couldn't I see Ari behind him?

Once again dismissing my instinct to overanalyze everything, I decided that it didn't really matter. I was nearing the pier exit. I could see Polk Brothers Park just ahead, its stark skeletons of young, winter-bare trees silhouetted in the light. The sounds of laughter and music from the ice rink were almost loud enough now to carry clearly over the wind. I was so close, moving in the right direction for freedom.

And then I just…wasn't. Forward motion was arrested as something slammed into me from the right and forced every bit of air out of my lungs. I sailed through space sideways, and my vision went momentarily white as my head whipped to the right, towards whatever had hit me. Could a car have driven on the dock? Wind whistled past and then something else slammed into my side comparably hard from the left, cracked as we collided, and gave way.

Then I was sinking. My brain was moving at the speed of maple syrup, but as water formed a downdraft and pulled me under, I figured out that someone or something had just knocked me off of the pier and into the crusty, frozen edge of Lake Michigan. And now I was sinking. Time stood still. An icy chill soaked into me like nothing I'd ever felt before. My bones felt cold and brittle, and my soul, if I had one, became an iceberg. I was paralyzed or in shock or perhaps frozen with dread and an unfortunate sense of finality—I couldn't move my limbs to swim to the surface, no matter how hard I tried. Did I even know which way was up? Then darkness soaked in too, and I recognized with gloomy resignation that I was starting to pass out. I was just so tired. The breakpoint hit me and I inhaled involuntarily, body determined not to give up and desperate for oxygen. The unfortunate thing about drowning is that you're usually somewhat aware that it's happening. You don't lose consciousness until you're really done for. It's torture, and panic shifts into pain. So, I was fully aware of how my lungs seemed to freeze and instantaneously cease to function as I inhaled, and I could feel them flooding, weighing me down. The cold water burned like hot lava. I wanted to cough it out, but that only forced me to inhale more.

Everything went dark for a terminal second that dragged on like an eternity until something wrapped around my ribcage and constricted, squeezing me tight against a firm frame. A sudden rush of movement followed that, and it made me want to explode. Then my head breached the surface, and I was dimly aware of Ari's face very near to mine. His wiry arm clutched at my waist, and when my head dropped feebly against his shoulder, he cinched his arm tighter, squeezing me until I coughed. Cold lake water rushed back up my throat, burning like cheap whiskey, and I pitched forward and vomited. Ari adjusted his arm under my ribs as more water surged up and out of me, making me gurgle and splutter. My vision swam better than I could at that point as I woozily tried to get my bearings, but—was Ari smiling? Wheezing in a shaky breath that did nothing for my mental fog, I noticed his arm position shift again. He hooked it under my noodle-like right arm and up across my waist and chest like a seatbelt, strong fingers digging into my left shoulder. He started to side-stroke towards the edge of the dock, towing me along like a chew toy and somehow managing to keep my head above water.

Still unable to move coherently, I let Ari do whatever he wanted to at that point. I couldn't feel a lot of my body, especially my extremities, and my brain felt like it was running on backup batteries. Everything felt muted, including my hearing—it was like thick cotton balls were wedged in my ears, but I thought I heard someone speaking nearby. A reverberating thud and dark ripples just below my chin drew my attention. Ari had paused in his swim to crack through a plate of ice with his free elbow. My body bobbed in his other arm as he repeated and balanced the movement. Water splashed my face and it was kind of irritating, but at that point, I couldn't care. I don't know how much time passed—it was getting confusing—but we started to move again. Another indefinite amount of time passed, and I just stared straight ahead, up at the hazy sky and the tips of the distant skyscrapers. _This is fine, _I decided, disregarding a tightness in my chest.

Ari stopped swimming, and my view changed as his arm slipped back down to my waist, and he floated me out in front of him, arm rotating fluidly around my body and pushing me to meet his other hand. His head bobbed up and down near the surface of the lake in front of me as he trod water, and I watched him curiously as he worked to keep us both afloat. His eyes met mine for a second before he looked up higher and his mouth moved. It sounded like "not that deep, I'll pass her up," but it was underwritten by a low-pitched ringing.

Ari's hands slid down from my waist to my hips, and though I knew I should be thrashing, I just let it go. He glanced above me again, nodded, then sucked in a deep breath before plunging downward. Where was he going? I started to drop too, but Ari's arms straightened, holding me barely above the dark surface. Just before my head dipped beneath the waterline, Ari rocketed up, something hooked under my armpits and pulled me out of his grip, and I was deposited sideways on the metal dock. My cheek pressed against the dull silver and I knew it had to be glacial and hard, but I couldn't feel it. I couldn't even move, but it didn't matter. The ground was comfortable. I wasn't even cold anymore. It'd be a nice place to nap. I had a pleasant view across the water from there, and also had a resultantly baffling view of Ari as he schlepped himself up and over the edge of the dock with all of the slippery wet grace of a sea lion. Why wasn't he a limp lasagna noodle like me? That didn't seem fair.

Sitting up and pushing dripping hair out of his face, Ari heaved a sigh. Then he looked up at his partner, who I surmised was standing over me and had maybe lifted me onto the dock. "Why the hell did you go in with her?" laughed the cotton-muffled voice of the partner.

In front of me, Ari shrugged. "Didn't know if she could swim. Can you swim, Ivy?" He leaned a smidge to look at me, smirking.

I should have been mad and normally would have snarled back some expletives, but I just didn't care. Could I even talk? I opened my mouth to say who-knows-what, but out came another gush of lake water vomit instead. Oops.

Ari's face changed for a second into something that I could almost believe was concern, but then he laughed. "I'm going to assume that was a 'yes.'" He heaved another sigh and rose stiffly, said something to his partner, and bent back down to collect me. Although he scooped me up with surprising delicacy, the motion made things spin and twist and turn around me like a kaleidoscope. When my vision settled, I was staring rigidly ahead, my head tucked in the crook of Ari's neck and my body bent into a bridal carry. That should've felt wrong, but I just wanted to nap. Maybe Ari would nap too. He should be tired by now. But it seemed like he was walking super fast. Or maybe I was just moving very slow.

Part of me wanted to look around and see where we were, but the majority of me couldn't care less. It didn't matter. Besides, I couldn't turn my head—it was like my neck had locked up.

After taking a shallow breath that burned my throat, I croaked, "Where?" I was trying to ask, 'where are we?' but couldn't get it all the way out.

Ari seemed a little startled by my speech and tilted his head to look at me. "'Where…are we going?'" he misinterpreted carelessly. "Oh, cutie, don't you worry. You'll see soon enough." I knew that wasn't the answer I had wanted, but I honestly couldn't remember what my question had been anyway.

Time passed strangely again, but that was okay. I couldn't feel my face where it was pressed against Ari's neck and shoulder, though it seemed a comfortable spot. Like a little face hammock. Sleep started to creep over me but was shooed away when Ari spoke again.

"You've got to be _fucking_ kidding me." We had stopped on a sidewalk, and I could hear the drone of car engines nearby. That drone blended with the rumbling hum that came from Ari's chest as he groaned. "We don't have time for this. Can you handle it? Quickly?" he snapped.

Another voice responded in the affirmative, and Ari turned away and moved again. I stared blankly at his soft-looking cheek as he hunched down and climbed into the back of a van. Then he seemed to move away, and I realized that he had laid me on the floor of the vehicle. It felt familiar there. Had I been on that patch of floor before?

Oh, of course. Earlier that day, when Ari had kidnapped me.

Now, he reached past me to grab something—an air pump?—and then vanished from view. I wriggled a little, but my body felt so rheumatic. When Ari didn't return and I still couldn't feel anything or move my muscles, I started to wonder if I had died.

Par for the course, honestly.

Seconds or maybe hours passed in ringing silence. It was a pretty comfortable way to be dead—endless quiet, motionless limbs, senseless skin. A dull thunk sounded nearby as Ari returned and pulled the van doors shut behind him. He was kidnapping me again, but couldn't he see I was already dead?

He settled onto the wall bench above me and leaned over, jeering. "Ready to go home, honey?" I didn't bother to try to speak. He didn't care what I said anyway. At least I could finally nap.

As my eyes drifted closed and unconsciousness started to take hold, I had one last oddly lucid thought—_if Ari wanted me dead, why didn't he let me drown?_


	4. Death, Memory, and Damaged Goods

**CHAPTER 4 - DEATH, MEMORY, AND DAMAGED GOODS**

—

SUMMARY:

Ari's an adult, he can take responsibility for his mistakes—and he knows he made a lot of them during this mission. That said, he's not entirely sure his punishment fits his crimes.

—

_You are aware that every problem you encountered today was the result of your hubris, correct?_

Ari groaned, dropping his head back against the metal wall of the van. Of course he was aware. Everything that had gone wrong was very obviously his fault. He'd been confidently digging his grave since 10 A.M.. The only thing he'd done "right" in hours was prematurely pop a pill. Still, that didn't mean he wanted to acknowledge his place in this mess, especially not now. He'd be forced to face the consequences shortly anyway—why couldn't he just have a few minutes, maybe half an hour, of satisfaction in a job completed?

_Is a job really done if it's not done well?_ the Voice quipped.

Hands balling into fists in his soaking lap, Ari angrily thought back, _I'm still bringing her in, aren't I? That's what they wanted me to do, and I'm doing it. _

_Damaged goods_…The Voice had no inflection, yet its message was still somehow dripping with goading pessimism.

"I liked you better when you were gone," Ari snarled aloud, suddenly so frustrated that he couldn't lock it in. Still, he couldn't help but look down at Ivy's brittle body at his feet. She was in bad shape, and he was the source of most of _her_ problems too. As he watched, her head lifted from the ground just a little before she slipped into a coughing fit, tiny aerated droplets of water spraying the space just above her before falling back onto her bruised face. Her eyes never opened, and she barely moved. Ari could hear her breathing from where he sat—it was raspy, shallow, and each breath came a little too slowly. All of the power he'd seen in her earlier, all of the intensity and drive that he'd admired, all of the fire had been doused. Literally. By him.

Looking at her now kind of made him queasy. Even though her cinnamon hair was plastered to her head and neck and her emerald eyes weren't shining, she was still beautiful, so it wasn't that she'd suddenly become gross. Ari just couldn't shake the feeling that he'd ruined her already. He'd only been near her for a couple of hours, and he'd already managed to completely obliterate her spirit. It felt…bad? He felt queasy because looking at her made him think about himself. He knew he should be better than this. Or he should at least commit to and embrace being worse. As it was, he kept destroying things that should have been good before he could really enjoy them, and today Ivy suffered the consequences of his recklessness. He felt…guilt?

_You should feel guilty. And you ought to be worried. Yes, you're bringing her in as requested, but most of your plans for her were based on her long-term value. You believed they would want to keep and use her. What will you do if they see the hypothermic, battered mess you've made and decide that her value has been reduced beyond repair? That she isn't worth saving?_

Ari hadn't thought about that in the slightest. Now his guilt and frustration with the Voice were augmented by a familiar sense of panic and anxious anger. He really had ruined another good thing. If he brought her back like this, would they even want her? Sure, the bruises and damaged wing would heal. But if she—_wait, did you say 'hypothermic'?_

_Yes. She clearly has hypothermia. _Ari ran a compulsive hand through his hair, trying not to blow a fuse as the blatant condescension in the Voice's nonexistent tone hit him. His hair was still wet but had mostly solidified in a sort of crunchy version of his normal unkempt style. It took him a second to realize that the crunchiness was probably ice. He wasn't cold, just cool enough to be mildly uncomfortable, but that was normal—his temperature ran much hotter than just about everyone's. He hadn't even considered that Ivy might be freezing, let alone suffering as a result of the temperature. Ari just thought she was getting over nearly drowning and the reasonable complications of that.

"How can you tell that she has hypothermia?" he asked, speaking out loud again because he couldn't think the words coherently enough to feel confident they'd get through.

_Well, you knocked her into a frozen Great Lake, so it's hardly a leap. You just noticed the way she's breathing—or isn't breathing, to be specific. When you pulled her out of the lake, she could hardly speak, and when she did, she slurred or mumbled. She also didn't fight back or protest being taken at all, which should have been your first clue. She's lost consciousness, which doesn't bode well. Check her heart rate. _Ari bit his lip and reached for her wrist. _Check it from her carotid. Her extremities will have gone numb, and that might affect the pulse. _

Redirecting his hand towards her throat, Ari took a slow breath to tame his own heart's irate beating. He pressed his index and middle finger against the side of her clammy neck until he felt the gentlest of repeating thumps, then lifted his left wrist up to see his watch. When the seconds hit zero, he started to count. After fifteen seconds, he'd felt only nine beats—if he multiplied that by four, he got thirty-six. Her heart rate was only 36 beats per minute. An average human heart rate was between 60 - 100 beats per minute. Ari's pulse generally put him on the high end of that scale, but mostly as a result of his inability to remain calm and some aspect of his medication. He had no idea what a normal heart rate would be for Ivy, but he felt sure that 36 beats per minute was low.

_She's bradycardic, which means she's likely somewhere between moderate and severe hypothermia. Her heart rate is still regular, though, so you've got some time before she goes into cardiac arrest._

The Voice made cardiac arrest seem as inevitable as a birthday. Ari's heart sped up as his annoyance and panic ratcheted through the roof. Leaning away from Ivy's stiff body and pressing his palms over his eyes, he muttered, "What am I supposed to do?"

_Learn a lesson about pushing people into frozen lakes. _

_I swear to God, if you don't start being useful when I want you to be, I'll blow my own head off, _Ari thought vindictively. He hadn't died that way yet. He had no interest in ever dying again, of course. In fact, he was terrified by the prospect, but maybe it would be worth it if it meant getting rid of the Voice again.

_Don't try to threaten me and don't be so dramatic. Conduction. Convection. Radiation. Evaporation. _This whole thing was giving Ari a headache. How had he made such a mess of such a simple task? This day had been so promising. All he had to do was catch a mutant moonlighter and bring her home. At the end of the day, he would get a new toy and have another successful collection under his belt. So how did that toy end up a first-aid dummy?

"Conduction…" he muttered, trying hard to recall the meaning.

_Conduction is the transfer of heat between two parts of a stationary system. _Ari scowled, knowing full well that the Voice had given him a simplified definition. _Is the floor of the van cold? _

Ari reached down to touch it, even though the answer seemed obvious. _Yes._

_Then you need to get her off of it. Are there any warmer surfaces that you can put her on?_

Shifting around awkwardly to consider the small space, Ari responded. _No._

_Then you should hold her. Your body heat will help. _Normally, Ari would have been delighted to scoop Ivy up. Getting her on his lap was his prime directive. But right now, she looked so fragile…and he was still dripping from his dip in the lake. _That doesn't matter. A heat source only has to be warmer than the hypothermic person to donate heat. But first, address everything you can do to improve the situation. _

_Okay, okay_…Ari thought, distracted enough to not be indignant, and moving on to convection. He didn't know the definition of it, and he didn't particularly want to learn, but he thought he got the gist. Ivy's body needed to be sheltered. It already was by the windowless walls of the van, but the environment was still generally a cold, damp one. He needed it to be warmer.

"Hey, you," Ari called to his partner through the little barred window to the cab. Now was not the time to find out if he had a name. "Does the heat run back here in the containment portion?"

His partner's brown eyes met his in the rear-view mirror. "I don't think they usually worry about keeping the prisoners comfortable." Ari ground his teeth together. Of course. Generally, they sought the opposite.

"Then turn the heat on as high as it'll go and angle all of the vents at the divider window. She's got hypothermia."

"Poor little popsicle." The partner sounded amused, but he hit some buttons and flipped some switches, redirected the vents on the dashboard, and Ari felt a small change in the airflow. It was a start.

_Radiation_…Ivy would lose any heat that she had left if he didn't cover her up and keep her insulated. But Ari didn't have anything to cover her with. He had his own suit jacket, but it was soaked. He'd had the trashed winter coat stashed away, but Ivy had seemingly ditched it at the pier. There wasn't anything else of use in the van, just the standard tech equipment and an assortment of restraints. _Okay, move on. Evaporation_…Ari understood how evaporation worked but didn't know why it was a bad thing here. Wasn't it beneficial for the water dripping off of Ivy's body to evaporate, leaving her dry?

_Because she's so damp, she will suffer from evaporative heat loss. So yes, she'll dry off some, but she'll also get colder. You need to try to towel her off as much as you can by hand and remove her wet clothing, _said the swallowed hard. Remove her clothing, huh? Another one of the things he'd been excitedly awaiting. This wasn't how he'd imagined it, but if it could save her life… _However, if you don't have any dry alternative clothing, it's best to leave her as she is._

Ari gnashed his teeth and grumbled, pulling his already extended hands back from the hem of Ivy's new sweatshirt. The Voice had backtracked like that just to rile him up—he was sure of it—and it had worked. Of course, Ari didn't have any dry clothing in the back of the van, but up in the cab, his partner was still fully dressed and had not gone swimming…

_There isn't enough time to have him pull over and strip. It's more important for you to keep the girl from getting worse right now, and to get her medical attention as quickly as possible. Assuming anyone will care enough about her to put in the time._

Huffing and angrily accepting the fact that he was essentially useless, powerless, and could do nothing to repair the damage he'd dealt, Ari scooted up by the barred window to shout into the cab again. "How much longer until we get back?"

"Can't really tell because of all the traffic, but the GPS says less than half an hour," the partner responded.

That sounded like a lifetime. "Drive faster," Ari barked, hands clenching into fists again.

His partner chuckled. "Whatever you say, Batchelder." Ari settled back down on the bench and jerked his jacket off, disregarding the slight intensification of his discomfort. Then he examined Ivy's rigid body, ignoring the resultant self-reflective queasiness, and decided to pick her up just the way he had carried her before. If he held her like a baby, only her feet would have to touch the freezing metal of the bench seat. He could also prop her up against his shoulder and chest, leaving his arms somewhat available to serve other purposes.

_Be careful when you pick her up. Moving her too much could induce cardiac arrest. _

_You are literally the worst, _Ari thought hatefully as he leaned down and slipped one hand under Ivy's shoulders and one under her knees. He would normally just scoop her up like that, using momentum to lift. Instead, he handled her as delicately as an explosive and focused all of his energy on his biceps and forearms to practically curl her into his grip like a barbell before leaning back and carrying her along. Once he was seated stably, he lowered her ass into the valley of his thighs and shifted his arm behind her, hooking her to his chest as her head dropped limply on his shoulder. He let gravity straighten her legs—her booted feet slid further down the bench until finally coming to a stiff halt with her knees still slightly bent and turned out.

And her heart kept beating, it seemed. Ari could feel her sluggish, shallow breath against the side of his neck. It was so soft and so weak that it was nearly imperceptible, but still hearty enough to send shivers up Ari's spine. With his free hand, he reached for his soaked suit jacket and then clumsily draped it over the front of Ivy's body. She didn't acknowledge that she'd been picked up and repositioned in the slightest. She could have passed for dead, which seemed worrisome.

_It is worrisome. If she continues to decline or remains unconscious for too long, there is a risk of brain damage, _informed the Voice. Ari wasn't sure how much he believed that or cared about her getting brain-damaged, but he still decided to try and wake the fading creature in his arms. He reached up and then paused, watching. When he only looked at her face, he didn't feel quite as queasy—the bruises were there, of course, but so were the most endearingly excessive freckles he'd ever seen. The most decadent eyelashes. The most defined eyebrows. The most perfect looking mouth, open ever so slightly…

Ari bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and shook his head. Later. He extended his hand until it reached her cheek and then paused again, feeling like an idiot. Her cheek was so soft, and it fit perfectly into the cupped palm of his hand. For a second, he inhaled, forgetting his antagonism and anxiety. How nice it would be to just hold her like that and stare. Maybe she should stay unconscious for a little bit longer, just to soothe him…

But if he brought her back with brain damage on top of everything else, he'd probably get himself decapitated. So, somewhat reluctantly, Ari pulled his hand back and returned it with a jolting slap. Ivy remained motionless, except her head whipped against his shoulder. Ari tried shaking her from behind with the arm that propped her upright, but nothing happened. She didn't go into cardiac arrest though, so, silver linings.

Ari pulled back his hand again as panic started to bubble up into his throat, and slapped her across the cheek once more. He hit a little harder than he'd intended to that time and winced as her mouth fell further open and her head bounced against his shoulder reiteratively—but this time her eyes fluttered too, long dark lashes brushing against the damp fabric of his shirt.

"Hey," Ari spoke. "Hey, Ivy. Wake up." He didn't really know what to say to hold the attention of a hypothermic freak, but he liked saying her name out loud. She blinked slowly before the lids of her eyes settled somewhere halfway between open and closed. "Wake up. Ivy, you need to stay conscious." Ari jostled her from beneath again, and her face shifted a little—she scowled, which seemed like a good sign. Ari found himself grinning now, and he could feel that a little bit of his anxiety had dwindled. She wasn't as dead as she looked.

Then, after acknowledging his relief, Ari became irritated and his smile slipped away. He hated caring about things. It just made everything harder and more frustrating. He didn't like feeling concern for this miscellaneous girl—he just wanted to be able to play with her, use her until he got bored. Feeling guilty for demolishing her was already weighing on him, but if he genuinely felt better for seeing her improve, he was in too deep. So, he had to back down and take a second to remind himself to focus on what really mattered: self-preservation. _You're only concerned because her healthy return means less punishment for you. This is just survivalism, _Ari thought pointedly, shaking his head and shirking any interest in Ivy's actual well-being.

At that moment, Ivy turned her head to the side, deliberately burying it in Ari's shoulder, and a tiny squeak snuck out of her. Ari clenched his jaw shut furiously to avoid smiling again. Why did she have to do that? She needed to stop being cute like that. But her dark emerald eyes were closing, so Ari shook her once again. "Stay awake," he asserted. "You're going to get brain damage." She seemed unfazed by that potentiality and let her head roll back down his arm a little so that she was looking straight up at the side of his face. She was still kind of glaring, but her vision seemed unfocused—as though she wasn't really seeing anything—yet her gaze was undeniably piercing and brought uncomfortable heat to Ari's cheeks. She did appear to have strong feelings about whatever it was she saw.

As if on cue, and through a mind-boggling exertion of energy, Ivy lifted a hand from where it had been folded on her chest and extended it towards Ari's face. His suit jacket slipped off of her, and Ari froze completely. His instinct was to question this, and to perhaps anticipate malicious actions…but she'd been unconscious and appeared nearly dead not moments ago—what damage could she do? The backs of her cold fingers connected with his skin slowly and incoherently, shakily skimming across his left cheek. Ari remained utterly motionless, stunned and conflicted, as her knuckles grazed his cheekbone and then slid lower. Even though Ivy's motions were kind of jerky, like each centimeter of progress required a whole new burst of life, her touch was gentle, and Ari couldn't ignore how abnormal and fantastic it felt. Her fingers unfurled and her thumb brushed across his lower lip and Ari shut his eyes. It was such a small connection, but the combination of her icy hands caressing his flushed face and the steady puff of her still very weak breath against his bare neck sent electric tingles racing through Ari's body. He hadn't felt anything like this since…well, he didn't remember.

Ivy's fingers continued to extend and drift across his countenance until they'd reached as far as possible, and all of a sudden, she was cupping his cheek just the way he'd held hers minutes before. Ari lost it—a small, soft moan escaped him before he could lock it down.

_God, you're pathetic, _he thought, leaning desperately, hungrily into the soft, cool concave of her palm. _You're a touch-starved piece of shit. _Ivy's hand slid to his jaw, followed it for an inch or two, and stroked down to his neck. Ari kept his eyes pressed tightly closed and bit the inside of his cheek again to stifle a second moan. His imagination was rapidly escalating the situation and he could feel his heart racing. He was suddenly staggeringly aware of just how fantastic it felt to have her on his lap. He didn't know why Ivy was touching him like this voluntarily, but he wanted her to keep doing it for forever and all over. He wanted—

Ivy's hand pressed against Ari's windpipe just firmly enough to drag him back to reality with a cough. His eyes flew open. She was still glowering up at him, her chilling hand and extended arm trembling as it pushed at his throat. It certainly ruined the moment, but she didn't have the strength to actually hurt him, so Ari just scowled back at her and reached for her wrist. He caught it, his fingers encircling it completely, pulled her hand away, and pushed it firmly against her chest—it was hard not to snap the brittle joint in the process. Ivy never broke from her glare, but her arms remained folded when he released her wrist, and Ari heaved an irked sigh.

He looked away from her face again and stared at the opposite wall of the van, cursing his foolish lust and squelching his resentful desire to just toss her body back onto the floor. Of course she hadn't been caressing his face affectionately—she had been reaching for his throat and just missed! Of course she didn't want to touch him—she wanted him dead!

_Well, this will make for an interesting relationship dynamic, _said the Voice, apparently amused by Ari's ability to massively misconstrue a murder attempt. However, the Voice was right. It would add a totally new element. Ari assumed (usually correctly) that many people wanted him dead, but he'd never been in a position to thwart that desire before. He thought he might derive great pleasure in knowing that his existence would frustrate Ivy, even if it meant that she'd never reciprocate his affection.

After all, her affection didn't need to be voluntary.

Still, Ari couldn't shake the feeling of her gentle fingers on his face. He wasn't used to such tenderness—he was used to getting his nose broken and his face beaten in and his jaw dislocated and his lip split and his eye scratched and his throat punched and…well, this had felt so different that it was special, whether Ivy had intended it to be or not.

That said, if she'd been reaching for his throat all along and had just felt her way to it by touching his face, why didn't she take the opportunity to gouge out his eyes? It would have been easier than choking him. Was she just unaware of her current health issues and diminished strength? And did that then imply that she was normally strong enough to choke a full-grown man to death with one hand? Also, if she'd used his face as a roadmap to his throat, why hadn't she redirected right away? She should have immediately aimed down but had still brushed across his mouth and other cheek before course-correcting. Maybe she really had willingly touched him a bit extra.

Ari grinned wickedly, deciding to consider the encounter an overall success. He still didn't want to care about Ivy at all, but he longed to be idolized. Was it likely? No. But he could pretend.

_You're a fool, _chastised the Voice.

_Fuck off, _Ari thought instantly, satisfied with his snappy response. He was still fuming—at the Voice, at Ivy, at himself—but it was muted now. A slow burn.

The Voice remained silent for a second, as though waiting for Ari to continue on a tirade or realize he'd missed something. Finally, it gave up waiting and finished its point. _You're a fool for looking away. _

Breath hitching in his throat, Ari snapped his attention back to Ivy's face. Her eyes were fully closed yet again. "Shit!" he grunted, shaking her body rapidly for the third time. Ivy's head bounced and rolled back and forth across his arm and shoulder, but she didn't respond. Ari shook her again, a little more violently now—like a child with a stuffed animal. Still no response. Heart suddenly speeding again, Ari pressed his fingers to her carotid to recheck her pulse. It took too long to find it—it was so faint. After shifting her weight a smidge to see his watch, Ari counted. 33 beats per minute. She was getting worse.

"How much farther?" Ari bellowed in the direction of the cab as he adjusted Ivy's body in his arms and clutched her closer to him for greater warmth. Her soft mouth pressed sloppily against his collarbone, and he fought back a shiver.

His partner was quiet for a beat before responding. "About fifteen minutes."

Snarling viciously, Ari snapped, "I thought I told you to drive _faster_." The partner didn't respond, but Ari felt the van accelerate. Good.

_If you shift, you can provide greater warmth, _advised the Voice. _However, it may be too late. _Ari growled and felt his stomach turn at the thought. Not the thought of it being too late for Ivy, but at the prospect of having to shift just to keep her from dying. Or getting worse, whatever. He couldn't come up with words strong enough to express how much he didn't want to do that. He didn't want to take on the added responsibility of becoming a monster to fix a problem he'd created as a man. It made him cringe. It made him want to stop existing altogether. But he didn't know how to articulate that feeling in a way that made sense, so he defaulted to lying and tried to justify his disinterest in other ways.

_I don't want her to see me like that yet,_ he shared. A partial lie, emphasis on "yet." He wanted to reveal his other side at a time when it would benefit him. He wanted to scare the shit out of Ivy, to make her as compliant as possible.

_She's unconscious, _the Voice responded, _and it doesn't seem like that will change anytime soon. _

Ari's throat started to get dry as he pulled another excuse out of his ass. _I could move her too much in the process of shifting. You said moving her could induce cardiac arrest, remember?_

_You will not move her too much. _Was that a command or a reassurance?

_I like this shirt. It'll get trashed. _That was true. He did like the cut of the dress shirt. It was loose enough to be comfortable but fitted enough to make him look menacing. However, his closet was currently full of the exact same shirt in a variety of different neutral colors. Shredding one every now and then was anticipated and budgeted for.

_Ari, it's just a shirt. Is she really worth so little? _the Voice chided. Ari grimaced, fully aware that he was being ridiculous at that point. But was she really worth such emotional and physical discomfort? He refused to care about her, but he fixated on her face and felt the same cringeworthy queasiness as before. How much would the queasiness intensify if she died? Would he feel worse if he accidentally killed her? Or would he just be disappointed that he'd killed her so soon, before taking advantage of her the way he'd hoped to? Either way, he didn't want to risk the emotional discomfort of extended self-reflection if Ivy died. Ari rattled her body around in his arms one more time for good measure and waited. When she remained unconscious and unresponsive, he bit his lip and accepted fate.

The shift only took a few seconds, but it felt like being blasted open, stuffed full of dense muscle, taut tendons, and extra bones, and stitched back together simultaneously all across the entire expanse of Ari's large body. His face elongated and ripped open to make room for 10 additional teeth and the rapid growth of the original 32, in addition to the shift of his nose into a muzzle with a sense of smell 100 times greater than an average human's. His fingernails lengthened and sharpened into claws, as did his toenails within his suddenly too-tight dress shoes. His body stretched and widened until he had to hunch over Ivy's frame to keep his head and now pointed ears from pressing against the roof of the van. His bones fractured and healed at new angles and lengths instantaneously. A thick mix of black, grey, and red-ish brown fur erupted across his skin, covering every inch of him. On top of all of that, the sensory overload was exhausting. The sounds of the cars on the highway around them suddenly became overwhelming and nearly drowned out the sounds inside the van, like Ivy's sluggish breathing, the drumming of his partner's fingers on the steering wheel, and the high-pitched whine of feedback from the tracking device on the dashboard. The smells became overpowering too—Ari could catch and identify the scent of the perfume of a lady two cars over, and Ivy reeked of the earthy musk of lake water. He could see more clearly in the dingy light of the windowless van as well—the purplish bruises on Ivy's face stood out much more in contrast to her stark pallor now. And, of course, Ari's shirt split at the seams, tearing open widest at his shoulders and around his ribs. His pants ripped this time too.

The whole process of shifting was dreadful and disorienting, albeit instantaneous…unlike the rest of the car ride back to the base. It was tedious, slow, and uneventful in a way that could only foreshadow further discomfort. Ari thought that the only thing missing was some generic elevator music.

Ivy never woke up again, which was likely a very bad sign for her health. Ari found himself anxious and angry still—both emotions intensified by his wolf-ish nature—but he was almost grateful that she was unconscious now. One less thing to worry about. Even so, he held her limp body as cautiously as he could and even checked her pulse again. It had dropped another beat or two.

The two men and the waterlogged girl arrived at the base just under fifteen minutes later. Thankfully, the partner was smart enough to pull the van right up next to the door rather than park it properly in the garage. However, as he unlocked and opened the containment portion to let Ari out, he laughed and said, "I'll get her feet, you get her arms? Y'know, like a spit roast?"

Ari would have chuckled at the likely intentional double entendre and might have indulged the idea if he weren't so anxious. Instead, he leaned forward, curving his huge, shaggy body around Ivy's unresponsive one, and started to scoot down the metal bench seat inch by inch toward the doors. "Just go get a stretcher," Ari ordered, finally reaching the end of the seat and extending a leg to slip down to the ground. "And a doctor." If he wasn't covered in fur, he would have gotten goosebumps. Willingly calling on a doctor was something he generally avoided, but now? In the face of inevitable punishment? Yikes. Ari briefly considered just tossing Ivy onto a stretcher and attempting to ding-dong-ditch her on the doorstep.

However, it was _his _doorstep, and he had nowhere else to go but in.

Besides, his partner had already dashed off to do Ari's bidding before Ari had a chance to reconsider, so he gulped in a lungful of soberingly cold evening air, adjusted Ivy's weight in his arms, and headed in.

The partner met him just past the atrium with a rolling cot and a full team of paramedics. Ari tried, genuinely tried to stay calm as one paramedic immediately probed, "What happened?"

"She's got hypothermia. Her heart's really slow," Ari growled back, setting her down on the stretcher as delicately as he could in the face of his pounding heart and awkward wolf limbs. The warring emotions that Ari'd been dealing with all day—panic and rage—started to wriggle around inside him, fighting for dominance in the face of this situation.

"What _happened?_" a different medic repeated as they strapped Ivy down to the cot and started back down the hall, further into the building.

Ari felt his heart speeding up with every step, but he kept pace with the medical team and continued to try to remain calm. The medic's tone was accusatorial, and Ari fought back the defensive urge to literally bite off the man's head. "Fell in the lake. Her wing broke too." Both true statements, but lacking some important Ari-centric details.

"Why didn't you call ahead?" another paramedic questioned. "We could have prepared to treat her more effectively in advance." Ari glared and shrugged, unable to come up with a valid excuse for being an idiot and now resisting the desire to shove his cell phone up this woman's—

"She needs to go through decontamination first," one of the doctors said to her team, ignoring Ari now that he'd proven useless. "Porter, check her vitals. Lowery, prep a room for hemodialysis. McCall, gather the materials for a saline IV and irrigation. Find an oxygen mask, HME, and humidifier too. Sharpless, get me as many blankets as you can."

Although he didn't understand 80% of that exchange, Ari still kept pace and angrily insinuated himself. "I should go through decon too. I can help you with—"

"No." The same doctor cut him off and looked at him with a condescending stare. "Use the other decontamination chamber. You've done enough." Ari stopped up short in confusion and resentment, but the team kept walking. He didn't dare argue—and he didn't honestly want to spend any more time with the doctors than necessary anyway—but after holding Ivy for what seemed like such a long time, Ari's heavy arms felt too light. He looked down at them, flexed his massive clawed mitts, and let them fall to his sides. He'd get used to feeling empty again soon.

_Look on the bright side, Ari. _The Voice spoke quietly, as though trying to prod him gently in the right emotional direction without actively interfering. Ari watched the paramedics roll Ivy farther down the hall before they hooked a right turn down an adjacent hallway that led to the larger decontamination chamber and medical wing. Nothing about this situation felt "bright." _Just think deeper, for once. They still took her. She might be almost dead, but they took her to medical to rehabilitate her anyway. That means that she's still of value. They still want her. _

Oh. Ari had gotten so caught up in the all-consuming internal battle of indignation and dread that he'd briefly forgotten part of what he was so anxious about—whether or not Ivy, in her current Ari-inflicted condition, was worth anything to Itex. It seemed she still was, so their plans for her must have been much more serious and developed than he'd realized. Though that didn't bode well for Ivy, and potentially meant that Ari's time with her might be more limited than anticipated, he couldn't help but close his eyes with a sigh of relief. If they were working to fix her and didn't just discard her, it meant that Ari hadn't completely bungled his assignment. That meant that his punishment wouldn't be nearly as severe. It also meant that all of his schemes weren't entirely ruined.

Exhaling once more, Ari rolled his shoulders and tried to relax. It took him a minute or so to gain control again, but when he finally forced his heart rate back to nearly normal, he made the return shift to human. The whole process from before played in reverse. Fangs retracted into his shortening jaw bone. Fur shrank back into his skin like water poured into sand. Bones broke and yet again healed into the proper shape. The supplementary strength and muscle he'd gained were ripped from his body, replaced by fresh aches and near debilitating exhaustion. Ari's senses died down in comparison, and he heaved another relieved sigh—the fluorescent lights weren't quite as blinding now, the antiseptic smell wasn't quite as potent.

Shifting back to human was often harder. It took more control, required stability. It also hurt less in the moment but more in the long run—all of Ari's regular aches, overused muscles, tense neck and back, and stiff left knee returned in force, compounded once more by a fresh headache. Ari felt grossly hungover, like he'd downed an entire bottle of undiluted Everclear before being rolled down seven flights of stairs. Hungover to the point of "would it be better to be dead now?" He would recover, and that sensation would fade very quickly, but shifting forced his body to burn through his pain meds faster than normal and that didn't help. He needed another dose, and then everything would be more manageable.

Groaning, Ari remembered that he'd left his pill bottle in the console of the van. He'd have to go back outside, assuming his partner hadn't already taken the vehicle all the way back to the parking garage. Where was he anyway? Ari wrapped one arm across his midsection to hold himself together, but his hand slipped through and got stuck in one of the rips in the side of his shirt. As he angrily jerked it back out and stumbled a little, a voice spoke from just behind him.

"Three. Million. Dollars." The voice paused between each word to add uncomfortable emphasis. Ari jumped, startled, and barely managed to stay upright as he recognized the grating voice and realized just how close its owner was. He shuffled around slowly to face the speaker, sobering up at a disturbing rate as a result of his alarm. In a doorway, just a few feet away, lounged a middle-aged man in a long white lab coat. Ari stifled a groan. He didn't know this man's name and he'd never needed to, but their interactions were frequent and visceral enough that it almost seemed like he should. At least then Ari would be able to better assign his dread. "Three million dollars in bribes—and counting—to cover up the mess you've made today," the man continued, stepping away from the doorframe, into the hall, and towards Ari's frozen form. The man didn't necessarily sound mad, just unimpressed. Ari cringed, averting his eyes from the doctor's and focusing on a miscellaneous linoleum tile to hide his discomfort. The control he'd gotten over his heart rate only a minute ago was gone, but now he couldn't tell if his heart was pounding like a drum or if it'd frozen too—the familiar beating was drowned out by a rushing sound in his head.

_Voice? Voice, now would be a great time for some useful advice,_ Ari thought, hating himself for seeking help. His palms started to sweat. The Voice remained silent. Ari decided to try something new. Instead of being combative, he would attempt an apology.

"I'm…sorry," he muttered. The words felt foreign and unnatural on his tongue, and he still refused to meet the doctor's eye. "I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't mean to…? To fly at a visible altitude and risk exposing your abilities to an entire city? To recklessly land in front of a crowd of commuters and leave your wings open long enough for plenty of them to get nice, candid photos of you, making you traceable? Or to display and nearly destroy a valuable asset just to stroke your ego?" the doctor said in a chiding tone.

_Ego!? _Ari winced. "Look, I didn't think—"

"Clearly," interrupted the man, cutting Ari off and instantly derailing his train of thought. "It seems you've given up thinking altogether, Batchelder. Your father would be disappointed." Ari's stomach twisted, and he was suddenly aware of the internal war between fury and dread yet again. He absolutely dreaded what was coming next, but being heckled and shamed tilted his scale just a bit too far towards fury. Bringing his dad into it was the last straw.

Jolting upright, Ari snapped his attention to the whitecoat's eyes. "Shut _up_, you piece of shit," Ari snarled, flinging his trembling arm forward to clip the man's shoulder, knocking him back a step. "How about you go fuck yourself instead of wasting time on me? Piece of _fucking_ shit." Ari's whole body was shaking with adrenaline, the way it sometimes does when you suddenly let yourself shout what you've been thinking for ages. He lurched forward towards the now retreating doctor, ready to attack again. "You're the most pathetic—"

Ari's whole body seized up. He felt two tiny pinches on his back, and every muscle spasmed outward from those origin points, rippling across his frame in a rapid wave. It wasn't as painful as shifting into his inhuman form, but it was just startling enough in the moment that Ari crumpled. His already wobbly knees gave, and he dropped to the cold linoleum like a string-severed puppet.

He was getting _really _tired of being interrupted.

Seconds later, his body relaxed and his head spun. He clutched at it, trying to get over his annoyance at being tased and the subsequent disorientation. "Fuck you," he mumbled defeatedly as the doctor's shoes came into view again.

"Batchelder, don't you ever learn? After all these years?"

"No," Ari growled back belligerently, but he didn't make any other moves. He didn't feel like explaining himself to this man, but of course he learned. Ari knew exactly what the results of his various actions would be. He knew that he'd probably just made his punishment worse. It wasn't a matter of knowledge, just a matter of pattern. And now pattern dictated that he sit there until told to do otherwise.

The doctor shook his head, disappointed. "Such a waste of resources. Come along, boy. It's time for your treatment." He stepped around Ari and continued down the hall, away from the atrium. Ari started to stand up but his spine arched involuntarily, yanking him back as someone, presumably the person that had fired the taser, ripped out the two barbed probes at once.

Gnashing his teeth and ignoring the small trickle of hot blood that snaked down his back to the waistline of his pants, Ari climbed to his feet and turned to face his partner, who still held the spent taser cartridge in hand.

"Sorry, Batchelder. Just doing what I'm told," said the partner somewhat genuinely, shrugging.

Ari bit his lip and shook his head. It wasn't a surprise to see his supposed partner at the end of the gun. He knew not to trust or count on anyone, but for some reason, they seemed to reinforce that lesson regularly. Wordlessly, Ari pushed past the betrayer, glad he hadn't wasted any time learning the man's name, and followed after the doctor.

The doctor strode casually down the hall, angling towards the elevator that would carry them to one of the sub-levels. Ari followed like a wooden toy soldier, body stiff but compelled to continue. His dread faded into bitter acceptance with every step. It was just a normal day, really, with a normal outcome.

Ari lurched onto the nearly empty elevator and wedged himself into the corner of it. The doctor swiped his wrist, pressed a button, and they descended towards Sub-Level C, the lowest of the levels with the greatest amount of soundproofing. The whole floor was like a rumpus room for mad scientists. Ari sighed, aware that that meant they expected a lot of noise from him.

_Just a normal day, _he thought, closing his eyes.

After stepping off the elevator, he was guided into one of the main chambers—a large semi-elevated cube with transparent walls of borosilicate glass, reinforced with a layer of ballistic glass and an additional exterior layer of polycarbonate sheeting, and framed with carbon steel and Inconel—and ordered to strip. Silently, Ari ripped his shredded shirt off, not bothering to undo the buttons, and tossed it on the ground. He removed his watch delicately, but haphazardly kicked off his shoes, undid his belt, and dropped his pants into a neat pile with the shirt. Then he waited, testing.

The first time they forced him to strip, Ari had been confused. Clothing never really felt like a form of privacy from the doctors anyway, so he hadn't understood why they suddenly felt the need to eliminate it altogether. He wasn't hiding anything. Nudity didn't make him uncomfortable. The treatment that day hadn't relied on him being naked to be effective—it would have sucked just as much if he'd been in a snowsuit. None of the doctors seemed to derive any extra satisfaction from his nakedness, so why had it been necessary?

After many treatments and some deliberate pondering, Ari figured it out. His clothes were removed to dehumanize him. They were trying to strip him of his humanity—humanity he barely had a claim to anyway. Most of his human qualities only proved relevant in a breakdown of his recombinant DNA, not his personality.

So, it didn't feel like such a loss, but Ari let them believe that it did.

"All of it. Off." The doctor gestured sharply at Ari's lower half, so he peeled off his trunks and socks as well and tried to appear self-conscious in the process. "Sit." Ari dropped obediently onto a cold metal stool nearby, staring straight ahead. A different doctor approached him then—this one didn't look quite as authoritative. Maybe she was just a lab tech. Either way, she came bearing a rectangular tray loaded with wireless feedback sensors. Ari only had one treatment with those before, but he genuinely believed them to be less annoying than the standard sensors, which had long, impossibly tangled wires and connected to a clunky box. The wireless ones weren't as gross and sticky, either. They just attached like little electric suction cups and could be easily detached once turned off.

There were nearly fifty of them on the tray.

The new doctor seemed to deliberately avoid making eye contact with Ari, but she set to work sticking the sensors to his skin right away. She started on his back and he sat erect, ignoring the prodding and soft squishing sounds that accompanied her actions. She applied the cold little discs all along his spine and around the base of his folded wings. Then she switched to his front, grabbing his chin and tilting his head up roughly so she could better see his face. Ari flinched but recovered quickly and bared his teeth at her, glowering and willing her to be uncomfortable. She seemed unfazed and added a disk to each of his temples, one at the center of his forehead, and one on each side of his throat at the carotid artery.

As the doctor pressed that last spot, Ari thought about Ivy and her diminishing heart rate. Was she even still alive? How long would he have to wait to find out?

Continuing along his pulse points and adding additional sensors in between, the doctor worked quickly. She did the points at his elbows and wrists and then switched to sticking some across his chest. Ari remained as stiff as a board and tried to guess at what they'd be monitoring that day. His understanding of anatomy was fairly basic, but it seemed like they were paying extra attention to the functions of his heart and lungs. _That can't be good, _he noted darkly.

"Stand up," said the new doctor. Ari stood rigidly, and she bent down to add sensors to his groin. He knew there was an artery in there somewhere. He also knew that he shouldn't make things worse, but he couldn't resist an opportunity to try and startle this woman, since she was so stubbornly focused on her task. He just needed to exert a little power to make himself feel better.

Ari faked a loud, body jolting sneeze, and the woman lurched back, eyes widening. He snorted, satisfied by his childish spook, and promptly got back-handed across the face by the primary doctor. Few humans, this man included, could hit hard enough to actually hurt Ari, but it still stung and didn't help his headache. As he straightened back up and returned to staring blankly ahead, he couldn't help but remember Ivy's gentle touch earlier. Even her attempted stranglehold had been more pleasant.

The second doctor returned to her work, now looking frustrated, and continued down Ari's legs, applying sensor discs as she went. After sticking some onto the tops of his feet, she spoke again. "Turn." Ari rotated, now facing out of the transparent room and into the control center. A small crowd of whitecoats had gathered, and they seemed quite amused and intrigued by the sight of him.

_It's just another day, _he repeated to himself, feeling mildly frustrated. As the lab tech/ doctor worked her way back up, applying sensors to his calves and thighs, Ari pointedly scratched his nose with his extended middle finger and stared into the crowd with his best bored expression. However, his expression faltered a little as the doctor began sticking sensors all across the surface of his butt. It kind of tickled, and Ari couldn't for the life of him figure out what profound knowledge they hoped to gain from monitoring his ass.

After adding a few more sensors to his lower back, beneath his wings, the doctor spoke again. "I'm done." She walked over to where Ari had stripped, loaded his clothes and watch onto the tray, and left without another word.

Ari turned back around in time to see the main doctor pick up a different metal tray. This one had five dull silver rings on it. "Bend over," said the man, setting the tray down closer and lifting the largest ring. Ari bent at the waist, enjoying a flash of amusement as he realized that the doctor couldn't reach his neck when he stood upright. The man opened the ring—it had a small hinge halfway through—and closed it around Ari's neck. A second later, the collar beeped and made a small whirring sound as it locked. The doctor silently repeated the process on both of Ari's wrists and ankles, but he had a small smirk that never seemed to waver as he worked.

Now feeling a little like a naked mall mannequin with all of his bling, Ari waited. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what they planned to do to him, but sometimes it was better to be told rather than learn in the moment.

The doctor left, sealing the clear door behind him and leaving Ari standing alone in the center of the cube. A few moments passed, and then the doctor's voice rang over the speaker system as he seated himself in the control room and began to harangue.

"Now, Batchelder, your treatment today is an experiment in electromyography. Do you know what electromyography is?"

Ari scowled, eyes meeting the doctor's through the thick glass and plastic. Always with the damn experiments. They could never just torture him—they always had to get some data out of it. "No," he snarled through gritted teeth, confident that he could make an educated guess.

"Electromyography is the recording of the electrical activity of muscle tissue. However, we're going to shake it up a little today, and will be stimulating your muscular system to see how much electrical activity is required to trigger a shift."

_Great, more electricity. Because the taser wasn't enough. Can't you fucks just go back to waterboarding me?_ Ari thought, anxiety and hatred building. It had taken him a lot of time and a ton of bullshit "treatments" to build up a tolerance, but he was getting quite good at being waterboarded.

"We all have different theories," the main doctor continued, gesturing at the other doctors in the control room around him, "and are excited to see which of us you prove to be correct. Do not try to remove the electrode sensors. Do not try to remove the collar and manacles. Attempting to remove anything we've attached will result in extended experimentation. Do not force a shift to end experimentation sooner than necessary. Data will reveal whether or not your shift was induced by stimulation or if you've forced it. Shifting prematurely will result in extended experimentation. Do you understand, Batchelder?"

Ari's hands were clenched in tight fists at his sides now, nails digging into palms, but he couldn't do anything to change the situation. He'd tried breaking out of these cubes before—hopeless. He'd gouged a patch of skin out from around an electrode before—it had been an effective removal method, but they'd starved him for three days after. This was just a normal day, and it would be over soon if he let it happen. "Yes," he angrily murmured, spreading his legs into a more prepared stance. If they were about to blast him with electricity, he at least wanted to be ready.

"Good. Now, we're trying to focus on electrical current today, rather than voltage, so we will maintain a manageable fifty thousand volts throughout the experiment and will slowly increase the amperage. It will feel comparable to the shock you experience from a taser gun, to start. Your collar and manacles create a closed circuit. Are you ready for your treatment?"

"Yes, fucking _start_ already!" Ari snapped, body trembling in fear hidden behind fury. He didn't care that he might be antagonizing them further—he just wanted to get this over with.

Silence fell over the control room as the doctors conferred briefly. Ari could see them fairly clearly from where he stood—he wasn't sure, but it looked like they were placing bets, pooling money. _Fucking fantastic. _Another moment passed, and the original doctor leaned back to the microphone. "We will begin with one milliamp." He nodded, and a different doctor pressed a button on a small handheld remote. Ari jumped as the shock ran through him. It was short, and it didn't hurt at all. It was barely a tingle. "Five milliamps." The remote controller tapped another button. Ari jumped again, but he held his stance and was pleased that the addition of four milli-whatevers only yielded a slight increase in the tingling. "Ten milliamps."

At ten, the sensation changed. It didn't tingle anymore—it felt like a shock. It still didn't hurt much, though. It was just displeasing. Ari's eyes narrowed at the doctors behind the glass, and he sank deeper into his stance in anticipation. Fifteen passed with little change, and the controllers continued counting up in intervals of five. The sensation grew progressively more irritating, and with every increase in amps, it seemed that the doctors were letting the surge last longer and longer. Still, Ari felt pretty good about the whole thing. It wasn't fun, but it was better than a lot of past experiments.

The jump from 35 to 40 was a rude awakening as the shock changed from irritating to painful, and Ari finally felt his muscles respond to the stimulation. His left knee, perpetually a little fucked up, buckled, and he dropped heavily down onto it. He was surprised that such a small interval could make such a significant sensory difference. Then they bumped it up again, and Ari's whole body jolted. _This_ was comparable to the taser from earlier. He could feel the shock ripple through him as he lost balance and fell clumsily to the side. Just as the pain passed and his muscles relaxed, they upped the amps yet again. At 50, Ari was vaguely aware of his right hand clutching his thigh for stability. His nails were clawing into his flesh, but when the current zipped through him, he couldn't let go. His vision started to get blurry, and the pain was so immense that he completely forgot his regular bodily aches in comparison.

It just continued to get worse from there. The increase in pain from 50 milliamps to 250 was negligible, but the duration of each surge continued to lengthen. At 255, Ari started to writhe, his large frame wriggling sideways across the cold, hard floor. At 350, he started to cry slow, quiet tears that leaked out of the corners of his eyes, skied the slopes of the bridge of his nose and cheekbone, and pooled beside his head as he spasmed. Ari wanted to scream every time they shocked him, but he also didn't want to give them that satisfaction. The fact that he was crying was bad enough.

At 500 milliamps, Ari's breathing changed and his vision started to go white. He couldn't get enough air. He was gasping, and his bare feet were pushing futilely against the ground, seeking purchase. Ari didn't have thoughts coherent enough anymore to know what he hoped to achieve, but he ended up just scooting around and coughing. At 700, his muscles contracted so aggressively that he felt like he'd snap. His body caved inwards, and he spasm-rolled until he was nearly face down.

He wasn't shifting. The telltale sensations of a shift were all missing, and something told Ari that the debilitating pain of having his insides progressively flash-fried wasn't going to draw them out. He was going to fail this experiment.

"Please," he croaked, still coughing and trying to breathe through the vice of his collapsing respiratory system. His chest hurt. His heart wasn't beating right. He was too tired to keep crying. "Please stop."

"Nine hundred milliamps."

Ari went blind and nearly deaf. For the dreadfully long few seconds that the current ran, he stopped breathing altogether and his heart skipped several beats. His body stiffened and clenched all over. The current stopped. Ari didn't shift.

"One amp," the doctor directed, voice foggy in Ari's ears.

At one amp, 1,000 milliamps, Ari's heart stopped completely. He was barely even conscious and fading fast, but he was still aware of his heart thudding to an abrupt and final halt. That electrical surge lasted too long, but he couldn't do or say anything to alert the doctors of his failing. He didn't know if the doctors were even still there anymore because he couldn't see or hear them. He started to die.

Time stretched on.

And then he felt another harsh but not as painful shock tear through his prone body. It restarted his heart and he gasped, desperate for air. That same pulse repeated twice more at lengthy intervals, then no more shocks came. He started to recover. The white overlay on his vision faded, his hearing came back. His breathing still hurt, but the air was getting to his lungs now. His heartbeat started to feel normal again. More time passed, then the doctor spoke.

"Good job, Batchelder. Your pain tolerance is only slightly suboptimal, and still significantly higher than a human's. Did you pass out before going into cardiac arrest?"

Ari's heart leaped with a brief burst of exhausting joy. He was conditioned to feel joy when congratulated for a job well done. He also thought that this implied a conclusion to the experiment. He could barely speak to respond, but managed to mumble "no" against the floor, which had tiny transducers woven into it—no sound was a secret here.

"Wonderful," responded the doctor. "Very impressive. Unfortunately, Batchelder, you didn't shift, so we're going to repeat the experiment at a higher voltage. Let's try 100,000 volts, shall we? We will begin with one milliamp."

Ari barely had time to process what was said before the first shock came. It was short and only stung, but he whimpered in surprise that they were diving right back in and taking it further. They must've missed the part where he started to die before he even got close to shifting. _Voice_…_Voice, please, help me,_ Ari pleaded, tears returning as his dignity diminished. _Please. I don't want to do this anymore._

The Voice remained mute. The experiment repeated as before, though more agonizing this time. At 250 milliamps, Ari couldn't stay quiet. A horror movie-worthy scream of torment wrenched itself from his throat. At 300 milliamps, Ari lost all muscle control and his body went completely limp between jolts, effectively silencing him. His wings unfolded weakly, shrouding his upper body in darkness and joining in on the electric fun, as the back muscles that held them closed turned to Jell-O. At 350, he started to drool, and his head bounced against the ground with every interval surge. At 400, his bones started to feel like they were rattling around inside of him as he spasmed, but he couldn't control the movement to steady them. His chest started to feel tight again, and his breathing faltered. At 500, his respiratory system started to fail, and this time he did begin to lose consciousness between shocks. He lost his sight and most of his hearing. At 700 milliamps, he went into cardiac arrest a second time.

He never shifted.

His revival repeated as it had before, but this time Ari passed out in the process, face pressing into a damp puddle of his own drool and salty tears. He didn't know how long he was out, but when Ari woke, he was face up. Someone had come into the cube and rolled him over onto his back. His wings were still extended beneath him, but his whole body hurt beyond belief, so the unnatural wing-bend was unremarkable. He spluttered and instinctively tried to sit up, but could barely move. Every muscle from his face to his toes felt like it had been beaten with a meat tenderizer and then thrown into a car crusher. He couldn't see straight—the room was weaving. He smelled something burning.

"I hope you enjoyed your nap, Batchelder," the doctor's grating voice rang in Ari's ears. "That was a thoroughly disappointing response. Your tolerance was surprisingly low, you fainted, and you still haven't shifted. Our next run of this experiment will be with a lower voltage, and hopefully, that will allow for a greater current."

Ari let gravity roll his head to the side as tears welled up in his eyes again. He briefly had a thought coherent enough to consider—_am I strong enough to snap my own neck?_ He wasn't. They'd probably punish him for killing himself anyway.

"We will set the voltage at just 25,000 volts. We will begin with one milliamp."

The process repeated yet again. Ari didn't know if he was just numb or if the reduction in voltage made a significant difference because his pain didn't seem to change until about 300 milliamps. At that point, everything started to hurt more. Every muscle contracted, shuddered, and limpened with each shock. His jaw was so stiff that his teeth chattered together every time. Most of the same symptoms from before recurred, but only at significantly higher amperage. His body became a ragdoll at 1 amp, and he flopped like a dying fish from there on out. The drool returned at 2 amps. At 3 amps, he felt his lungs begin to fail again, but this time the sensation was accompanied by a faint yet familiar heat under his skin—a different heat from the sensation of being electrically fried. He was going to shift. At 3.5 amps, it finally happened. The pain of electrocution was replaced by the instantaneous agony of having his body ripped open, reshaped, and zipped closed again. Ari felt an overwhelming sense of relief and satisfaction that only lasted a second because the growth of his body had meant the constriction of the collar and manacles. The rings around his wrists and ankles had already fit securely, and now they dug deep into his flesh. The collar was too tight, and it presently strangled him. He gagged, but he couldn't move to roll over and cough, and he didn't have the energy to thrash the way his panicked brain wanted him to. By some miracle, he raised a clawed hand to his throat but remembered the warning about trying to remove the collar and faltered—his sharp claws fell heavily nonetheless, and he accidentally sliced open a shallow groove across his neck.

"Wonderful. Good work, Batchelder. You've just made Jameson a very happy man and provided invaluable data. Knowing that a low voltage shock at 3.5 amps can stimulate the muscular system enough to trigger a shift is very useful. In your next treatment, we will work on speeding up this process and documenting the full range of effective voltage at that amperage. After that, we'll try directly stimulating your nervous system instead, to see if that proves more effective." Because he was asphyxiating and his head felt like a balloon inflating within the confines of a small wooden box, Ari only registered about half of what was said. He was starting to pass out again. "Congratulations on the completion of your treatment." Someone unlocked the collar and manacles remotely—they all fell open with a click, soft hiss, and a thunk. Ari gasped and wheezed and stared at the ceiling through watery eyes. Only then did he notice that his body was still twitching intermittently, like the electricity had gotten stuck inside of him and was trying desperately to get out.

An indeterminate amount of time passed, but eventually, the see-through door to the cube chamber clunked open, and a gaggle of doctors sidled in and circled Ari's limp body. Most of them had notepads—they were already scribbling. Ari pressed his eyes shut, wondering if they'd leave him alone if they thought he was unconscious. Then again, he probably looked pretty awake, given that his whole body kept violently shaking every few seconds.

Another moment passed, and Ari felt the familiar sensation of a memory extractor being pressed to his face. It was like a blacked-out dive mask—fitted across the face above the nose—but where there should've been a head strap, there were instead two adjustable electrodes that punctured the skin at your temples. The mask suctioned on, and the electrodes dug into his exhausted face muscles just below the two sensors that remained in place.

"Open your eyes, Batchelder." It was the unmistakable voice of the doctor he loathed.

Ari didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want them looking at all of his memories from that day. They might find another reason to punish him, or they'd laugh their asses off at the way he'd misconstrued Ivy's touch. They'd find something new to use against him.

"Open them now, or we'll begin your next treatment immediately." Ari's eyes flew open, and the extractor flashed. It was sort of like a camera flash but extended and a little bit more blinding. A tiny surge pricked at his temples, and then it was over. Every memory he had formed in the timeframe they'd chosen to review was instantly copied. The doctor pulled off the mask, and the electrodes ripped out. Ari couldn't hold in a whimper and heard the crowd of whitecoats chuckle in response.

God, he wanted to tear them apart.

"Wise decision, boy. Now, repeat after me," the doctor began. Ari sealed his eyes shut again and let his head roll to the side. "Thank you for my treatment."

He could barely even breathe right, let alone speak, but Ari rasped along clumsily with the mantra. Maybe every other syllable was clear. "'Thank you for my treatment.'"

"I deserved this treatment."

"'I deserved this treatment.'"

"I am glad to provide Itex with valuable data and willingly offer my body to scientific pursuit."

Ari's body writhed and his mind felt dark. "'I am glad to…provide Itex with valuable data,'" he croaked, heaving a painful breath halfway through. "'And willingly offer my body…to scientific pursuit.'"

"Perfect. Good job, Batchelder." Ari's heart still leaped with that same, stupid conditioned response. Someone powered down the wireless sensors, and Ari felt the suction release across his fur-covered body. When he could move again, he'd be able to simply dust them off. Right now, he could barely lift his heavy, throbbing head. "No food until this time tomorrow. No hot water for a week. The door will be open—you may leave when you're ready. And Batchelder, next time you may want to remove your earrings. Most metals are conductive."

Ari winced at the same time that he spasmed. He'd completely forgotten about the two tiny hoops, though he doubted that the other man had. Soon after that, the horde of doctors jovially exchanged a few words, and then Ari heard them shuffle out of the room, leaving him naked and alone to twitch in silence.

He didn't know how long the treatment had taken, and he didn't know how long he lay there afterward, but he got progressively more and more lost in the dark parts of his mind as time stretched on. Every inch of his body hurt, so getting lost in his head actually seemed like a good coping mechanism, except that most of his thoughts circled back around to death and memories. He didn't have a lot of memories, and the strongest of them were of all of his previous deaths. In fact, beyond a year or so ago, he only remembered dying over and over and over again. He didn't remember anything leading up to or immediately following each death, but the sensations of each various demise? Burned into his mind, dating back to the first—a cervical fracture of the C4 vertebrae and resultantly fatal spinal cord injury. He remembered the sound of the break as his neck hit the pavement and how the crack had reverberated up his spine, could still feel the instant bodily paralysis and blinding pain, and would never forget the dirty, confused face of the girl who'd killed him, but everything else about the scenario was missing. And everything between that death and the next was gone too.

Nothing scared Ari more than dying, which seemed counterintuitive considering how many times he'd died before and how often he tended to wish he were dead now. The only thing that came close to terrifying him quite as much as death was not having any memories worth losing when he next bit it. He just had a sense that something was missing. He needed something to rattle around inside himself every now and then. He wanted memories that he could call upon when he needed a pick-me-up. He wanted memories for when he felt any miscellaneous emotion and needed specific stimulation. He wanted memories strong and visceral enough to drown out the memories of his most gruesome deaths.

He intended to create those memories, and he'd do his best to keep them for himself.

But he couldn't very well do that from the floor of a big glass box.

Ari pulled himself back to the present and instantly regretted it as agony washed over him again. He had managed to ignore the convulsions for a while, but they were still tearing through him—all of his muscles contracted and gave out time after time. He still couldn't control his limbs very well, so he waited for the spasms to slow. It was like listening to see if your popcorn was fully cooked—"if there are more than two full seconds in between pops, it's time to stop." He certainly felt microwaved. His insides were probably melted. Maybe his missing memories weren't actually missing—it was completely possible that he'd been unknowingly fried often enough that he'd suffered brain damage. It made as much sense as anything.

More time passed. Ari moaned and whined and suffered through the remaining paroxysms. When they slowed to about one convulsion every thirty seconds, he tried moving his arms. He could do it. From there on, he clumsily flipped onto his stomach, left wing crumpling uncomfortably as he rolled across it, and dragged himself up onto hands and knees. Ari paused for a second there, trying to catch his breath and slow his heart, and noticed an angry red ring circling each wrist where the metal manacles had been. His fur was scorched off, and the flesh was raw. Undoubtedly, that was the source of the burning smell he'd caught before. His neck and ankles probably matched.

After a minute or two, Ari could crouch, and a minute or so after that, he was standing upright. His legs trembled and his head spun, but it was progress. He started to hobble towards the open door and almost wiped out instantly—instead, he staggered sideways and bounced off of a cold metal table before righting himself.

The walk from the cube to the elevator wasn't far, but to Ari, it felt like hiking a small mountain with rough terrain while blindfolded, and only as a cool down to hiking Mount Everest. He nearly twisted his ankle and almost wiped out yet again on the step down from the cube. He could hardly see straight, and the anguish of movement was all-consuming. When he did reach the elevator, he hazily raised his right wrist to the security pad by the buttons. Nothing happened—probably because his hand wasn't where he perceived it to be—so he just repeatedly smacked his arm against the wall and dragged it up and down until the elevator dinged and opened.

Ari stumbled on, looked at the buttons, and groaned. He'd forgotten that this elevator had limited access for security purposes and would only take him back to the main floor or the other sub-levels. He'd have to get to a different elevator to be carried to the floor with his dorm room. Either way, he pressed the button he thought said "ground level" and swiped his wrist over the security reader beside it. Blessedly, it dinged again, and the door closed.

The sudden upward motion and fresh sensory overload made Ari want to vomit, but he held it in and limped out of the elevator as soon as the doors reopened. He made it about ten steps down the brightly lit main floor hallway before slumping against the wall and pressing a furry palm to his inhuman-shaped forehead.

"Batchelder, you look like shit," said a nearby voice. Ari frowned, recognizing the inflection.

"Fuck off," he snarled back, trying to sound horrifying and deadly, but his snarl came out with an exhausted, raspy squeak.

His partner-turned-betrayer walked around in front of him, forcing Ari to meet his brown eyes, which conveyed pity and maybe a dash of unavoidable amusement. "I brought you some pants. Thought you might want—"

"Fuck you. I don't want your fucking pants." Ari dragged himself along the wall until he'd passed the other man and then slumped again. The fluorescent lights were just _so _bright, and his wolf ears could pick up their high-pitched scream. The antiseptic smell was disgustingly strong, and it flooded his nostrils. His head was throbbing and ringing. He finally hurled, whole body convulsing again, and conveniently the other man stepped further away. The moment passed and Ari tried to breathe normally, but his lungs and throat burned.

"Brought you these too," said the other man. Ari was content to just ignore the traitor until he heard a familiar little rattle. His ears pricked up and he turned to face the man, who held out Ari's pill bottle. Ari scowled, looked to the man, looked back at the bottle, then back at the man. Then he reached out as quickly and coherently as he could, but his arm shot past and too far to the left of the bottle, missing it completely. When he tried again, his claws wrapped around the orange-tinted plastic tube, and the other man released it with an entertained smile.

Hazily, Ari yanked off the lid and shook out two or three of the clear capsules. He didn't know how many he actually took—more than he should have, probably—but he swallowed them dry and instantly started to feel the numbing, rejuvenative effects. Everything still hurt, but the pills took the edge off of all of his senses. "If you ever tase me again," Ari grumbled, dizzily locking eyes with the other man, "I'll tear your throat out with my teeth." Then, he turned away and tried to continue down the hall.

"Whatever you say, man," the partner replied, chuckling a little. "So, electrocution, huh? How was that?"

Had he felt better, Ari would have given the man the dirtiest look he could muster and punched him in the face. Instead, he just muttered "fucking sucked" and continued to hobble, sensor discs falling off like breadcrumbs as he continued. Then, a gloomy realization pushed its way into his fried mind and he stammered, "How'd you know about my t-treatment?" Ari already knew the answer, but he needed confirmation.

The other man was quiet for a second before finally fielding the question. "They streamed the whole thing live on one of the channels." Ari felt resentment and a rare sense of mortification bubble up in his throat. His stomach churned and he slumped against the wall again, closing his eyes this time to try and get some balance back. "It's still playing on a loop. There's an educational cut now, too."

Ari felt simultaneously like vomiting again, murdering everyone in the building, and crying under a blanket for the rest of his dumb life. "Educational cut?" he prodded, head rushing.

"Yeah. You know, to teach the rest of us a lesson."

"Great," Ari grumbled, thinking about all of the vulnerable bits of himself that had slipped out during the torture. It would make a fantastically disturbing educational exposé, and he expected the others would treat him differently as a result. Of course, they already treated him differently, but now he'd have to actively focus on reasserting his rank and dominance, and he just didn't have the energy or time for that. Pulling away from those stressful thoughts, Ari resolved not to watch any of the footage or educational cuts until he felt better and could appropriately vent his responsive anger. "Why didn't you get a treatment?"

The other man kind of smirked and shrugged. "When they assigned me to this mission, my only orders were to do whatever you wanted me to. I'm not the one they planned to make an example of today."

Ari's insides twisted. If that was true, it meant that his recklessness had been let loose by design. The doctors had counted on him messing things up. They knew he couldn't possibly handle the situation effectively without letting his ego—apparently—get the best of him. He'd been set up to fail.

Those thoughts circulated through Ari's head for the rest of his trek to his room, and he fumed the whole way. It took Ari a while to get to the other elevator, and the assigned partner zealously kept him company. The man seemed oddly determined to be jovial and informative, maybe to cheer Ari up, but his efforts had the opposite effect. He shared that they'd hacked in and found a hilarious report filed by the police officer on Lakeshore, then promptly deleted it. He noted the passage of time. Ari had been in treatment and recovery for four and a half hours. He talked about the whole coverup. Two separate news outlets had been purchased, and the silence and phone footage of close to seven hundred Chicago commuters and office workers had been bought in order to fully wipe Ari's and Ivy's winged forms out of the media. All of this information, while shared casually, weeviled its way into Ari's mind, making him both angrier and more mortified. Plus, the other man didn't know anything about Ivy's current condition and had laughed when Ari asked.

When Ari finally got to the main elevator, he was delighted to see that the traitor didn't intend to join him on the lift. "I still have to finish the return paperwork for the van and find a good way to explain the sudden acquisition of a wheel clamp," the man said, laughing. Ari had forgotten about the boot entirely. "Enjoy your cold shower, Batchelder. Try not to barf in bed. My name is Dax, by the way."

He gave a corny, phony salute and departed, leaving Ari utterly perplexed and very frustrated. On top of all of that information that he'd rather not have gained, Ari really hadn't wanted to know the man's name. It was sometimes easier to hate a stranger, and he didn't want connections. But, of course, the choice had been taken away from him—for a name as stupid as "Dax"! Why had that backstabbing asshole tried so hard to be helpful anyway? As Ari swiped his wrist and rode up to the 27th floor, he remembered a rumor he'd recently heard about a contingent of the agents with three-letter names. According to said rumor, they were following an example they incorrectly thought Ari had set. Although Ari longed to be idolized, the concept of that contingent made him uncomfortable, so he decided not to give it further thought.

If "Dax" tried to be friendly again, Ari would toss him down the elevator shaft.

In the span of the short walk from the elevator to his dorm on the 27th floor, Ari nearly vomited twice. His body was still quaking despite the forced numbness from his medication and his eyes kind of felt like they were crossing back and forth as he moved. Nevertheless, he made it to his door, lifted his wrist to unlock it, pushed through, and then nearly tumbled to the ground when the Voice abruptly returned and spoke.

_You shouldn't have taken so many pills at once, Ari. _

"Where the fuck have you been?" Ari rasped, steadying himself and launching off of various pieces of furniture as he stumbled and swayed in the direction of his bathroom. "Why didn't you help me?" He choked on a childish, embarrassing squeak that betrayed the twisted sense of abandonment he felt.

_I've been busy._

"Oh, of course. You've been busy. Great." Ari hobbled down the little hall to the sizeable bathroom and came to a stop in front of the large mirror. It was always a bit jarring to look at himself when he was shifted, but observing his reflection made it easier to switch back. There was something about seeing what needed to be changed that gave you a greater sense of control. Nonetheless, it took him about five minutes of staring into his own yellow wolf eyes, and some seriously focused deep breathing before Ari reached a point of false relaxation and stability to transform. The shift back occurred as usual, but it was a bit more drawn out. His body was tapped, trying very hard to generate enough energy to reconfigure itself, and the process hurt more as a result. Once it was done, and Ari stared back at his tear-filled amber eyes, all of the pain the medication had numbed lashed out at him. He doubled, vomited bile into the sink, and coughed until he didn't need to anymore. Every cough made his body clench and tense in a way that was grossly reminiscent of electrocution, and it made his already pained muscles burn.

_I have some information that you might be interested in,_ said the Voice.

Breathing shakily, Ari ignored the Voice and stood unbowed to look at his reflection again. There was a bright red and white ring of burned flesh around his neck, and blisters were forming towards the center of it—his wrists and ankles did match. His face had taken more damage on one side, probably where the liquid combination of his drool and tears had made the current more conductive. That patch looked like it had been rubbed raw with a piece of steel wool. His left ear around his piercings was blackened, dry, and unfeeling, though the little gold hoops were intact. His hair stood straight up, and the tips were singed. There were two tiny pinpricks of blood at his temples from the memory extractor, and one of the sensor discs still stuck to his jaw.

Ari scowled at his reflection and his insides twisted again. This time, though, it was because as he looked at his battered body, he couldn't mute a thought: _I deserved this treatment._ Maybe he really did. He'd been rash, and that had cost Itex a lot of money, and for what? The treatment wasn't so bad anyway, and he'd be completely healed in a day or two at most. Everything except the dark circles under his eyes and the fury buried within them would fade quickly.

_You know better than that, Ari, _the Voice interrupted. It sounded both exasperated and compassionate, for a toneless, disembodied asshole. _Just because something can be fixed doesn't mean it should be broken. _

"Why do you only show up when I want some goddamn quiet, but never when I actually need you?" Ari wheezed. "Get out of my head."

_Ivy is alive, _the Voice started, ignoring his retort. _She's stable. They're going to sedate her and move her to a dorm to recover. _

Ari watched blankly as a wicked grin touched his lips and pulled the corners of his mouth up. It didn't quite reach his eyes, and the expression looked a bit demented with his face the way it currently was, but Ari felt the malicious delight and satisfaction that accompanied it. It soothed his aching body, and suddenly his treatment felt like just a blip in a day with an ultimately satisfactory conclusion.

"Well then," he breathed, "I better get cleaned up. Lots of memories to make."


	5. The Crippling Weight of Morality

**CHAPTER 5 - THE CRIPPLING WEIGHT OF MORALITY**

—

SUMMARY:

Ari's cold shower sucks. His life sucks. He's exhausted. He just wants to sleep. But he's been given a tempting opportunity that he can't ignore.

**TRIGGER WARNINGS:** Intended Sexual Assault; Harassment; Roofies.

**HELPFUL SPOILER:** Nothing extremely bad happens, but I think this could still be triggering for many readers. The attempted sexual assault/ harassment only takes up a small portion of the chapter, so I blocked that section in with horizontal lines. You can read the rest of the chapter and skip over that part if you'd prefer!

—

Feeling mildly grateful that he was already nude, Ari hauled himself into the shower and incoherently swiped his wrist to start the flow of water, his vision unfocused. He remembered his newly updated code restrictions just a moment too late, however, and sucked in a surprised, shaky breath as the ice-cold liquid connected with his head and shoulders and trickled quickly across his body. "Son of a—" he growled, yanking on the handle as anger flared in his chest. But the handle remained locked to the far right, very decidedly in the section of "cold," so Ari slumped forward into the jetstream in resignation. He was so, so tired that he barely had the energy to sustain his fury. Slouching towards submission and numbness, he only managed to keep himself upright by pressing his hands against the dark tiled wall of the shower stall. His head drooped down in exhaustion, chin nearly touching chest, eyes closing.

In an attempt to fight back against his mental and physical drain, Ari made a genuine effort to see the bright side in that moment: the water—which was almost as cold as the frozen lake had been—actually hit the spot when it came to recovering from the sensation of being flash-fried. It was slowly cooling his electrically overheated body down from the outside in, and the frigidity felt great on his burned bits. But, as usual, his silver linings were wiped out by dark clouds: the rhythmic tapping of the water jets on his patchy, freshly flayed flesh felt horrific. Ari never thought he'd be upset that his shower had such superb water pressure, but here he was, mentally cursing that high PSI. Additionally, the cold H2O that soothed parts of him also made his bones and muscles ache even more than before. His whole body felt somehow simultaneously taut and formless, strained yet gelatinous. Every muscle felt like it was being squeezed by the hand of an uncaring, distracted toddler on steroids.

_At least I'm not twitching anymore,_ Ari noted hazily. That was something, right?

It took a conscious effort to lower and roll his stiff shoulders back, but Ari did so and allowed his wings to unfold loosely in the wide expanse of the dark stall. Every muscle in his back screamed along his spine. He tilted his head to the side, trying to crack his neck but instead exposing more of the raw ring around his throat to the direct hits of the showerhead. It burned, but it was better than feeling numb. Gritting his teeth, Ari ignored the pain and stubbornly concentrated on the benefits of that awful shower. All of the damage of the day was being cleansed. He visualized any evidence of his wounds being spirited down the drain, leaving him behind intact and improved. Dried blood? Flaked away. Burned skin? Soothed and rehydrated. Leftover flecks of vomit, drool, and tear stains? Erased. The embarrassment of messing up a simple mission, misinterpreting a throttling, and crying on camera…?

_Just another day, _he thought once more, sighing through clenched teeth. He wanted to be mad that this was his life. He wanted to unleash the anger that so frequently boiled within—that had boiled over hours ago. But the energy just wasn't there. Frustration and hate remained, but they were thinly veiled by apathy, emptiness, and exhaustion.

Ari's arms were shaking and on the verge of collapse, so he pushed off from the wall, rocked back on his heels, and faced up into the rain—and immediately recoiled with a sharp hiss as the water drummed violently on the blisters at the front of his throat and the raw skin of his cheek. He contemplated ending the shower then and there but reminded himself that the pain was only temporary. All of those trashed bits of his body would heal, and heal even faster if he kept them clean, so Ari sluggishly picked up a washcloth, wetted it, swiped a bland bar of glycerin soap across it, and started to rub it in tight, jerky circles over his marred face.

It hurt like a bitch, and was made worse because Ari couldn't help but channel his residual frustration into his scrubbing. He wasn't gentle—he was irked. Tired and irked. On top of that, he was stubbornly committed to this course of action now and didn't know how to stop things once he'd started. He knew that aspect of his personality had screwed him over in the past and would undoubtedly do so again in the future, but he couldn't change it. So, he just focused on being efficient with his pent up fury, ignored the pained tears that started to build up in the eye above the shredded cheek, and tried to force his mind to wander to happier thoughts. Thoughts like…the ecstasy he anticipated from some imminent one-on-one time with Ivy. Thinking of that future made the present pain much better—made it feel almost like foreplay. Made him feel _something_.

Ari scrubbed harder.

He reached up to wash the helix of his blackened ear around the two little gold hoops, but he couldn't feel it. His fingers knew what they were touching, but that patch of ear was completely numb. Number than he was. Ignoring a new wave of irritation, Ari scrubbed it thoroughly anyway before moving on to the rest of his body. He scowled as the boring, unscented bar of soap lifted away bits of visible lake water grime. _Sure wish I'd had time to go through decontamination, _Ari thought sarcastically, hating all of the doctors who'd played a part in his day. Itex put such emphasis on reducing the risk of a contaminated facility, but no one seemed to care about protocol when it was torture time.

He moved on to his hair. Today, the standard shampoo made his scalp tingle in an abnormal and slightly worrisome way. He mused briefly about the extended effects of electrocution and wondered if he'd ever feel entirely normal again. _Who cares? Get over it, _he snapped at himself, moving on.

For the sake of personal presentation, Ari took the extra time to wash his wings with the same bland-ass soap. He hadn't cleaned them in a while, but he knew that the wings were much more impressive when the feathers were shiny and immaculate, even if it was a painstakingly slow process, required a surprising amount of dexterity, and always felt awful in the moment. Ari barely had the energy or coherence to take on the task, and he knew he did a crappy job as a result, but anything was better than nothing in this case. He anticipated an impending need to look like he had his shit together. This was a good little start. The feathers would take forever to dry properly, though. Ari found himself scowling again as he thought about the gigantic, carwash quality blow dryers in the main decontamination chamber. _Sure would've been handy!_

Although he tried to move quickly—partly in anticipation and partly to keep his mind from replaying that day's mistakes like a highlight reel—Ari still lost a little over an hour in the shower. Every action took him twice as long as it normally would have. Cleaning his wings alone took thirty minutes or so, and he couldn't even reach a good portion of the feathers near where the appendages connected to his back. Plus, every twist of his body pulled at some other part of him. He hadn't even realized that Ivy's attacks in the alley earlier had landed quite so hard, but he could feel bruising on his ribs from one of her well-placed kicks and some additional small aches elsewhere, like his nose and jaw. They were a joke in comparison to the rest of his pain, but knowing that she could actually hit hard enough to leave a mark kind of turned him on. It was a twisted mentality, and he knew it, but it pushed away some of the numbness. He started daydreaming about the delicious prospect of the immediate future once more, rinsed himself off, and swiped his wrist to end the freezing shower.

Toweling off sloppily, Ari dragged his body back to the sink and stared into the large mirror at his naked, disheveled, damp reflection. He looked like a goddamn mess—so many conspicuous injuries. Many of the noticeable ones had already begun to heal, but every inch was inflamed from his frustrated cleansing. He sighed. His cheek would likely mend overnight if he slept well enough, and all of the blisters and various small puncture wounds would vanish in a day or so. He'd overlooked the accidentally self-inflicted gouge at his throat before because it blended in with the sores and raw red skin, but it would close up soon too, along with the claw marks on his thigh. Assuming, of course, that nothing got infected.

His ear…he didn't know about that. The cartilage looked dead. Ari might have to cut the top third of it off—just like an ear-tipped, neutered, feral cat. He didn't love that idea for several valid and obvious reasons. Sighing again, he decided to just ignore the problem and try to hide the damage.

So, reluctantly, he combed his hair. Ari thought he looked his most daunting when he did nothing for his appearance, and he usually left his hair alone to take on its naturally untamed, wild form. It tended to twist and curl and stick up in all directions, and it made him look a little manic. Truly, the ideal. Today, however, had been an exception—he'd had his hair styled to make sense with the suit. The exceptions of the day would continue, he decided, because combing his hair straight made it just long enough on the sides to cover the burned chunk of his ear. In fact, the blackened skin appeared to be no more than a shadow under the ends of his smooth, damp locks. Counterintuitively, however, he left the little gold rings in place. Getting the piercings had been a brash and public act of rebellion, and if he took the earrings out now, their absence would be noticed.

"Idiot," he grumbled at himself, regretting that choice.

His mind wandered into dangerously pessimistic territory as he looked at himself and considered just how aggressively he'd stomped on his own reputation that day. He'd have to earn it back. He'd need to hide the physical reminders of his failings—from the others and from Ivy. Ari could dig out a turtleneck or something to cover up the seared rings around his throat and wrists, and all of the other injuries in between. Any pair of pants would cover his ankles and thigh scratches. Unfortunately, nothing could be done to hide his rug burn of a face, and as the inflammation faded and his skin cooled, it only served to highlight the thin white scar that cut across his eye socket. But the rest would have to be enough for now. He could get his shit together better in the morning.

As he pondered how best to hide himself, Ari made the tragically human mistake of really seeing his reflection in the mirror for just a bit too long. A familiar sense of distress and anxiety started to creep up from his stomach to his throat, temporarily squelching the apathy while visibly tinging his expression and darkening his eyes. Ari knew he was attractive by human standards, but something about him just looked off. Lesser. His muscles weren't bulky enough. He was too tall. His eye color was disconcerting, unnatural, and that scar—why didn't it heal? Ari just didn't look…universal, like the others. He didn't look seamless. He didn't blend in. They all looked strong and normal. Ari looked like he'd worked his whole life to seem functional and was barely passing. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he look the way he should?

_Because you've willingly offered your body to scientific pursuit! _the dark part of his mind reminded him helpfully. Ari groaned, fighting the urge to hurl again as his eyes darkened further. He hated himself for parroting the rhetoric, even internally, and tore his gaze from the mirror.

He shuffled back towards the bedroom portion of his dorm, palms sliding along the walls for stability, and realized along the way that his wings were so strained and droopy and his posture was such a slouchy mess that the tips of his dark primaries were dragging across the cold tile floor. He should care, but he didn't—should try harder, but didn't want to. He didn't have the energy to fold his wings, and they needed to air out to dry anyway, so Ari just let them whisper across the ground. He made a small effort to straighten up a bit, but that was all he could manage. He'd put on a better facade when he left the room.

Ari headed for the closet but stopped up short when he noticed that his watch and cellphone, the latter of which he'd forgotten in his pocket when he'd discarded his pants, had been returned and placed casually on his bedside table. Did he overlook those items before, or had they only just been dumped while he was in the shower? Grumbling a little at the continued invasion of his nonexistent privacy, Ari put the watch on before any clothing and took a moment to unlock the phone and flip through it. As he did, a tiny, devious sneer tugged at the corner of his mouth, tugging the veil of indifference back with it.

Despite purchasing two news outlets and the collective footage of nearly a thousand Chicagoans just to erase any evidence of Ari's existence, ego, and mistakes, Itex had forgotten to wipe his phone. The selfie he'd taken with Ivy at the foot of the "L" was still there, as clear as day and as hilarious in retrospect as it had been in that moment. She looked deliciously vulnerable, sprawled, and broken on that pile of soiled street snow. Ari's expression in the photo was triumphant—he'd thought his day was over and had savored the success of a capture. He'd taken that picture to taunt her…and for clout amongst the others, of course.

_So much for that, _he thought, delight fading rapidly. Although the photo would certainly still rile up Ivy, he'd have to work his ass off to impress the others after the stupid broadcast loop of his treatment. He wanted to hope that the "educational cut" of his torture didn't include all of the clips of him crying and pleading…but Ari knew better than to hope.

A few quiet minutes later, Ari was dressed and ready to go. He had found a dark grey thermal undershirt with long sleeves and a mock neck high enough to effectively hide his burns. The shirt was meant for training and verged on being too tight for general comfort, but at the moment it kind of felt like duct tape, holding Ari together and forcing him to stand erect. Conveniently, it also had finished edge wing slits cut into the back. Although folding his wings in enough to slide them through the slits had sapped even more of his energy, letting them stay uncovered would help them dry faster. Ari tucked the shirt into fitted black jeans and threaded a black belt through the loops. Then he sank onto the edge of his bed to yank on a trusty pair of black combat boots and hoped he looked put together enough to be respected, or at the very least ignored.

But sitting down had been a mistake. He could just fall over sideways, and then he'd be in bed. He could sleep, and heal, and dream…about all of the memories he didn't have. About how shitty his life was. About all of the things he wanted. About how utterly empty he felt.

_Get up! You can sleep when you're dead, dumbass! _his brain hissed at him, clawing through his exhaustion. _You've got a freak to visit. You've been waiting for this moment for weeks. Go show her your lovely bedside manner. _With that thought and the reminder of his building desire for this exact opportunity, Ari hauled himself to his feet. He set off to find Ivy with a wobbly spring in his limping step and the same demented, scheming grin from earlier—it didn't reach his eyes. But with every step, he stood taller and straighter. With every step, his numbness started to fade into the background of anticipation. And he was so focused on carrying himself like he was functional that he'd left his dorm and nearly made it back to the elevator before realizing that he had no idea where the girl was being kept.

He hated that he had to ask, but he did it anyway. _Voice?_ He prodded, trying to channel all of his frustration into his mental tone. _You said they were moving her to a dorm to recover. Where? _Ari half expected the Voice to decide to be "busy" again. Indeed, it remained silent for a painfully heavy beat before finally responding.

_Twentieth floor. _It sounded displeased, and the brevity of its response suggested reluctance. Ari didn't care, and his crazed grin returned as he called the elevator, entered it, swiped his wrist, and pressed the corresponding button. His depth perception had nearly returned, at least. _What makes you think you'll have access to her room, Ari? _

"Oh, I don't think I will," Ari replied in a devious and cocky tone, though he sounded a little hoarse in the small space of the elevator, his throat a little raspy. Probably a result of the vomiting. Either way, Ari wasn't stupid enough to think he'd have access, but that rarely slowed him down when he wanted something. The Voice didn't question him, and Ari was genuinely a bit surprised that it didn't take a jab at his ego or foolhardy behavior. Then again, it didn't tell him Ivy's room number either, so it obviously intended to make him work for his prize.

As the elevator descended, Ari sighed and indulged his exhaustion, slumping sideways against the wall. Although his blood boiled at the prospect of Ivy finally at his whims, he still could have just gone to bed. Even his mind might have let him sleep if he hadn't had such a frustrating day, but at this point, he desperately needed a release. He needed to feel powerful and in control and dominant. He needed to fill the empty pit inside himself. Visiting Ivy and using her the way he'd dreamed of for nearly a month would certainly make Ari feel better. He'd sleep better afterward, too. But he was still so goddamned tired. He needed more energy.

Ari pulled the pill bottle out of his pocket, eyed it. Contemplated.

_Don't, _the Voice interjected immediately, knowing. _Ari, you have already far exceeded the recommended daily amount of—_

Feeling resentful and vindictive—the Voice had abandoned him before, after all—Ari shook out a single pill and swallowed it. The effects weren't quite as intense or immediate as usual, but as the medication started to kick in, Ari did feel better. A little stronger, a bit more awake. Definitely more energetic. He straightened up a smidge, folded his wings halfway.

_You are a foolish child, _the Voice admonished, somehow sounding cold and frustrated in a way that didn't entirely make sense. Why did it care about his use of the meds?

"And _you_ are a motherfucking dick. Stop telling me what I can and can't do," Ari hissed, enjoying the gleeful power-trip that he got from denying and snapping at the Voice, even though a deeply buried part of him agreed with it. His thoughts started to slip. He'd taken a pill an hour ahead of his timer earlier that day. It had been the right choice. But since then, he'd taken…well, he didn't quite know. Three or four? Four or five? He was only supposed to take one every six hours. Frowning, he looked at his watch. It had only been a little under eight hours since he'd prematurely popped a pill on Lakeshore Drive. He squelched it quickly, looking away from the watch, but he could almost hear a whisper inside himself saying "be smarter!" But then the elevator dinged, the doors opened, and Ari hobbled onto the floor that held his evening's entertainment.

The twentieth floor, like most of the housing floors, was divided into small offshooting suites, each of which contained a cluster of four rooms. Every room was a tiny double with narrow bunk beds, and every floor shared a single communal bathroom. Dividing the space like that didn't seem necessary to Ari, but it did allow for the greatest number of beds per square foot. And even though it felt vaguely like a cross between a labyrinth and a prison, the suites and the shared bathroom created a perverse sense of community. Suitemates tended to flock together in training sessions and at meals. Roommates were often assigned as partners. Sometimes floors were made up of whole flights or squadrons. And then there was Ari. He'd done his time on the main housing floors. He hated them. Living there was tedious, and he hadn't bonded any better with the others in that setting anyway.

Ari could admit, however, that if you wanted someone to have to look for you, living on housing was ideal. The halls were like a maze, especially if you didn't know which room number to hunt for. Ari heaved a frustrated sigh, weighing his options: he could ask the Voice for help again, or he could engage in a door-to-door pursuit. He was leaning toward the latter when a soft sound and the movement of white fabric caught his eye. It was the bottom edge of a white lab coat, swishing as its wearer quickly and quietly crossed an intersection up the hall. Ari smirked, starting in that direction and squaring his body more and more with every step. A whitecoat would only be on this floor to check on a fresh acquisition or to monitor a health defect—they generally avoided housing, and for good reason.

As anticipated, Ari turned that corner into a suite and found his favorite old whitecoat lurking outside one of the rooms, a clipboard-sized tablet resting across his arm. _My luck is looking up, _Ari mused, posturing. He leaned imposingly against the door frame, dark wings curving around him.

"Is she in there?" Ari rasped. The whitecoat apparently hadn't heard Ari approach and visibly jumped in surprise, shuffling to face the entrance to the suite.

The man's face relaxed as he realized who prowled by the door—it wasn't a group of suitemates looking to cause trouble. The man clearly didn't understand that Ari could be much, much worse. "Oh! Batchelder. They thought you'd turn up. If you're referring to the girl you brought in today, then yes."

Ari pressed on. "How is she?" He already knew she was stable thanks to the Voice (though he never understood how the Voice knew what it did), but wondered about her remaining value and if it would align with his long-term plans. Stable didn't necessarily imply functional. Of course, Ari truly did not give a shit about her health. He just needed to know for the sake of his future self-preservation. If she proved useless or damaged beyond repair, he might be due for another treatment sooner rather than later.

The doctor tilted his head and peered up at Ari's face over the tops of his browline glasses. "I see you didn't take kindly to electrocution." Ari choked down a snarl and felt rage rattling around inside himself again, winning out briefly over apathy and exhaustion. He took a quick, jerky lunge towards the man, who stepped away and threw up a flat palm in preemptive self-defense. Despite Ari's general distaste for the doctors, this one had never posed a problem or threat. He was ancient, probably one of the originals at this base, and had been phased out of projects and downgraded in positions over time. At this point, Ari thought they couldn't fire him because he knew fifty or so years of Itex's history, so they gave him menial tasks and waited for him to die.

Besides all that, this whitecoat didn't have the eerie, malicious expression that so many of the other doctors shared. He didn't look at you like he was already vivisecting you in his mind. In fact, Ari had always thought this man distinctly resembled a sloth—bleary eyes, docile expression. Easily intimidated, a little slow. The doctor certainly had nasty claws within his personality, but he didn't seem to default to using them in his old age.

"How_ is_ she?" Ari repeated with a growl, ignoring the electrocution jab, the embarrassed flush it brought to his cheeks, and the reminder it carried—that his treatment was most likely still being broadcast.

The whitecoat frowned, but he knew better than to push Ari's buttons and switched into sharing mode after a glance down at his tablet to review his notes. "In short, she's fine. Mildly concussed. Recovering quickly from hypothermia, though we encountered some additional comorbid issues, such as superficial frostbite. We think she's caught pneumonia as well, since her lungs are inflamed and many of the related symptoms are manifesting. Pneumonia is a common result of the combination of hypothermia and near-drowning, so it makes sense. Her wing was broken as well, as you know, but it was a clean break to the phalanges, and we've got it set. All in all, we're not worried, but her file is incomplete and lacks data on her healing factor. While we suspect that it's comparable to that of most of the recombinants, we're monitoring her closely to be sure her recovery is swift."

That same sense of queasiness from earlier bubbled up in Ari's chest again, accompanied by a very small sense of guilt. He quickly pushed it to the back of his mind, but not before he'd thought, _At least I broke her wing effectively. Good to know I can still do some things right. _He really had made a mess. "Is she awake?" Ari asked, throat dry and tight.

"Well," began the old man, looking up from his tablet and shifting uncomfortably. His eyebrows knit together, and he made harshly direct eye contact. "Not exactly. As you know, the human-lupine hybrids burn through sedatives very quickly. It seems her bodily response is comparable. We had trouble keeping her under…but when they realized you'd likely try and visit, it gave the others a good idea." Ari stared back at the man pointedly, waiting to hear this so-called "good idea." He was already wary, though. The doctor's speech had changed rapidly from "we's" to "they's," as if to distance himself from the plot. "Well, they've given her flunitrazepam, and it seems promising. I am here to monitor the initial effects."

Ari frowned. He recognized that word, flunitrazepam. He recalled hearing it tied to another word in a file—Rohypnol. As realization set in, he felt a weirdly contradictory sense of amusement and disgust that made his head rush. "Wait… You roofied her?" Ari questioned, snorting. Itex had access to every drug ever created. Itex also had the resources to manufacture any drug they might need in a pinch. Of all the things, a roofie? Ari thought for a second that it might've been a joke.

Tapping a few buttons on his tablet compulsively—he just opened, closed, and reopened the same page in a medical file—the whitecoat responded in a matter of fact tone: "Flunitrazepam is a very powerful benzodiazepine. It's about ten times more potent than Valium, and many countries use it as a precursor to anesthesia. Many others use it to treat severe insomnia. We need her to rest. And we don't want her to—" He stopped up short, and his eyes flicked over Ari with a combination of judgment and pity. "As you know, we intend to recruit her. That will be easier if she doesn't clearly remember what you're going to do to her."

Ari felt a burst of rage ignite inside him, only to be instantly doused by queasiness as the doctor's words sank in. The whitecoats had anticipated his desires but didn't care about Ivy enough to try and stop him—only enough to make her forget what Ari would do. That felt…weird. It felt gross. They had prepared her for him, made her a perfect little victim for the sake of his appeasement and her recruitment. Ari didn't think he liked the idea of playing along with this, and he was at least smart enough to question it—it felt like a trap. Were they setting him up to be reckless and ruin another good thing? Was this a ploy to get him to make another wrong move, just so they could make an example of him again? Or did they seriously place such little value on Ivy?

Then again…this also felt like a golden opportunity. Maybe the doctors realized that they'd been too hard on him earlier. Maybe they understood that he deserved better treatment, that he'd earned a reward for his hard work—despite his mistakes. Perhaps they'd _finally _decided to cut him a break. Ari desperately wanted to believe that, wanted to believe that _he_ had value to them. Plus, he knew what he wanted from Ivy. He knew it wouldn't be entirely voluntary on her part—to start, at least—so this…assistance would save him a lot of work. Even though the whole thing felt fishy, felt like an obvious trap…well, who was Ari to look a gift horse in the mouth?

"The flunitrazepam hasn't quite kicked in entirely yet, but it should take hold any minute now," the doctor continued quietly, disapprovingly, as he tapped some additional buttons on his tablet and checked a live account of the girl's vitals. Ari reeled internally, barely hearing. "The dose we gave her ought to last roughly eight to twelve hours, and will render her nearly paralyzed. That should allow her body to direct all of its energy toward healing. When she wakes, she shouldn't remember anything. At that point, we will reassess her health and move forward accordingly. An intake interview will be conducted. If she's kept, she'll be assigned a roommate."

_Why is he telling me this? _Ari thought, uneasy. _Is that my timetable? Eight to twelve hours? What do they think I'm going to do?_

The doctor tapped the touchscreen of his tablet a few more times, noting changes in Ivy's vitals and comparing them to previous readouts. A handful of minutes passed in weighty silence, and Ari started to zone out, weighing the pros and cons of giving in to his overwhelming wants.

"And… Yes, she's out. You can go in now." The old man closed the open application on his pad, pushed his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. Ari stared at him, speechless, though his mind was racing. He knew what he wanted: control of Ivy, control of the situation, control of himself. In fact, those wants felt more like an imperative. Not a want, but a need. But he still couldn't shake the feeling that this might come back to bite him in the ass—that he should go back to bed and wait for a better opportunity. Ari didn't want to make a choice like this on the spot. He needed more time to figure out how to make this situation work for him and him alone. "Batchelder?" the doctor pressed, bowing his head curiously.

An obvious solution popped into Ari's mind, and he wheeled on the ancient man. "Update my access codes. I want to be able to open this door whenever the mood strikes." Not a request, a demand. If he could leave and think it through for a bit, maybe he'd come up with a clearer answer.

"Well, Batchelder, didn't you just hear me?" the doctor replied, tone patient. "There's a limited window for you to—I can't—"

Ari took another fast, unbalanced step forward, and the whitecoat withdrew, crashing back against the door to Ivy's room. Before the man could trip and fall, Ari grabbed him by the shirt collar and lifted him a few inches, just high enough that only his toes brushed the ground. It took all of Ari's drained strength, but the old man's alarmed expression was a satisfying justification.

"Update my codes," Ari repeated with a cold, throaty hiss, too distracted to come up with a better or more menacing threat. He flared his wings a little behind him, for the drama.

"Alright, alright," choked the whitecoat, wriggling. "Put me down, damnit!" Ari released him instantly, and he slid down the door, coughing and reaching up to straighten his collar and glasses. He grumbled something that sounded like "temperament of a toddler, the lot of you."

"What did you just say to me?" Ari growled. He didn't give even a hint of a shit about the doctor's remark, but toying with the man was helping clear his head.

"I said that I can't remove your new restrictions. Those are above my authorization level," the man covered. Ari nodded curtly, unsurprised that his new restrictions—no food until tomorrow, no hot water for a week—had been made public as well. "But…I'll update your room access as requested." Ari loomed over the doctor until he'd lifted his tablet, opened a different application, entered a security code, and then used the tablet to scan the keypad on the girl's door, followed by Ari's wrist key. The screen beeped with a green-tinted message, accepting the added code.

"Good," Ari murmured. "Now you're going to get the hell off this floor, and you're not going to come back until that roofie wears off. If I catch you back here sooner than eight hours from now, I'll help you work out an early retirement plan. Got it?" The doctor looked like he was contemplating laughing at Ari's behavior or ridiculous threat, but he didn't dare. Instead, he nodded, straightened his white coat, and shuffled away, out of the suite and down the hall, leaving Ari alone with his internal conflict.

Moments later, rowdy, mocking voices stirred as the elevator dinged and a group of suitemates arrived, passing the whitecoat in the hall and jeering. Ari had absolutely no desire to interact with anyone else at that moment, so he took a deep breath and decided to slip into the girl's dimly lit room if only to think more clearly in silence and privacy. His key worked perfectly, and he closed the door quietly behind himself, hoping not to attract any attention. Then he turned to look at Ivy's unmoving, petite form and froze, all of his conflict and coherent thoughts melting away.

The first thing Ari noticed was that she'd been left on her back. That was stupid. It was an uncomfortable position for a winged creature on a good day, let alone with a broken phalange or whatever. His wings, spread loosely behind and around him, ached at the concept. On top of that, her arms were extended up above her head. Who slept like that? That wasn't natural for anybody, Ari thought. But the thought slipped away as he surveyed the rest of her from the door, not quite ready to slip further into the near-dark of that room until his eyes adjusted. A thick looking, fleece-lined blanket covered her lower half loosely, but beneath that Ari could see that she'd been dressed in the flimsy paper-fabric T-shirt and pants that they gave to all new acquisitions. It didn't do much to hide her form. Her chest rose and fell languidly. Dim twilight light from the small slatted window on the adjacent wall reflected off of something, and Ari realized that a few sensor discs had been placed on her temporal and carotid pulse points, and a dull silver ring encircled her neck. He winced, his own throat aching a little more as he recognized the shock collar. He did not envy her that inevitable discovery. However, his pinch of pity was replaced by a different set of emotions as he inched closer to her. Her wrists had been bound in restraints and tied down into the specialized mattress, hence the awkwardly upraised arms.

_You've got to be fucking kidding me, _Ari thought, body locking up as his discomfort returned. They had tied her down, and he knew it was only for his benefit. There was no other legitimate reason to restrain her to that extent. They were making a point.

It felt wrong. It felt like a trap. A little voice in Ari's head was screaming at him to turn around and leave… But at the same time, looking at her like that made his body start to ache in a different way. It was a good ache, and it drowned out the physical pain and emotional detachment. She was a gift. For him. Those fabric restraint straps were like the bows on a pretty Christmas package.

Gnawing on the inside of his cheek and compulsively running a hand through his hair—instantly rumpling what he'd neatly combed—Ari stepped a bit closer and peered down at her face. It was bruised. From where he'd kicked her. But her eyes were shut, and her thick, dark lashes rested peacefully on the tops of her sharp cheekbones. Her skin, a lovely freckled cream, was flushed and irritated—probably the result of a pneumonia fever and an aggressive pass through decontamination—but at the moment, the pinkness kind of made her look more alive. It was better than the pale, frozen creature she'd become on the ride back from Navy Pier. Her mouth was open just a fraction, and her lips alone looked like a perfect appetizer. Her red-gold hair splayed around her head and under her raised arms, flaming like a halo on the thin pillow. She was majestic, despite Ari's destruction.

Ari felt that same demented smile tug at his lips, fail to meet his eyes once more. This was a golden opportunity. He would not waste it.

* * *

Moving slowly from a mix of achy body and distracted mind, Ari peeled back the fleece blanket and shoved it to the foot of the bed, revealing restraint straps around her ankles too. He didn't let himself question the restraints this time, but he didn't do anything about them either. He just decided to leave the girl strapped down until he was good and ready to be between her legs.

Ari swung one knee up and over Ivy's hips before lifting himself onto the bed above her. He scooted until his knees found a semi-comfortable position pressed against her sides and sat back slowly, resting his weight cautiously on her hip bones and taking in the enthralling view. It was a view he'd longed for for weeks. Strangely though, and for some reason he couldn't identify, this wasn't quite as satisfying as when he'd flipped her over in the alleyway earlier—that was a memory for the spank bank. Still, her body was warm underneath his, and she was unconscious. He could do anything he wanted. He had complete control. It was exactly what Ari needed.

For just a minute—one, peaceful minute—he sat still and watched her breathe. Despite his weight on her hips, Ivy's chest continued to steadily rise and fall, and her breathing looked so much better than it had in the van. As much as he refused to care about her, Ari found that improvement oddly reassuring. He tried to match his breath rate to hers. It worked for a bit, but the pattern was so soothing that he started to get sleepy again. Adrenaline and a building need made him move forward.

Ari spared a glance at his hands before pressing them against her sides. He just wanted to hold her, to confirm that she was tangible. He could feel her ribcage, but could also feel taut muscle stretched across her midsection through the thin paper-fabric that separated his fingers from her skin. Then he slid his hands up excruciatingly slowly, tracing the curves of her slender frame from waist to wrists, letting his torso dip down and lengthen to reach as far across her as possible, allowing his wings to fall forward, cloaking them both in heat and intensified darkness. Ari's body pressed against hers, and he didn't stifle his moan. It felt so good. He rolled his hips into hers and closed his eyes, thriving. All of his painful aches disbanded. All of his apathy started to fade. The emptiness gave way to an intense craving and heat in the pit of his stomach. He longed to feel close, to feel good.

But Ari wanted to draw this out, to really enjoy it. To make memories. He didn't know how many golden opportunities they would give him. So he pulled himself back, retracing her body in reverse, delighting in every paradoxical part of her that varied from soft and supple to firm and unyielding. She had a body like a pin-up girl, if said girl also spent the better part of her life eating dumpster scraps and bare-knuckle boxing. Ari wanted to see her better. He reached for the hem of her shirt and started to lift it. He pulled it up slowly, drinking in the view of her—the shadows and slopes. And then he froze.

She had an undocumented tattoo.

It was a delicate, twisting vine of ivy, drawn in a very minimalistic style with black ink. It made a gentle curve, hooking from her left side towards her sternum like an external rib, maybe an inch or two below her covered breast. Ari smirked at it, wondering what had prompted her to tattoo her namesake in such a hidden place. He would have to ask later. He dropped the hem of her shirt and instead redirected his hand to the tattoo, tracing it listlessly with his index finger and grinning wickedly when he saw goosebumps pop up around where he caressed.

Then, in true cliché jump-scare form, Ivy gasped, and her whole body quaked between Ari's legs. Her chest heaved forward beneath his hands, and she tried to sit up but was jerked back by her pinned wrists and fell heavily against the pillow, wincing. She must have squished her wings. Ari yelped in surprise, and his body locked up as his hand withdrew from her ribs of its own accord. His wings half-flapped once on instinct—he was genuinely shocked to discover that Ivy was not entirely unconscious. Ari watched her with an undoubtedly perplexed expression as she coughed, her head rolled to the side to meet her extended upper arm, and her eyes blearily focused on his.

Ari instantly began to feel queasy again, his head spinning. What poor timing! Now that she was conscious, the whole dynamic changed…didn't it? Even though he'd never been in this situation before, Ari understood the basics of Rohypnol. At least enough to know that despite her current consciousness, there was hardly any chance of her remembering anything, and absolutely no chance of her being able to fend him off, restrained or not. Even in his weakened state, Ari could just…tell. She wouldn't stand a chance. But it didn't matter—the drug probably just hadn't taken a complete hold of her yet. It would any time now. Ari could wait a few minutes, and she would undoubtedly pass out again (or he could knock her out and save everyone a little trouble). But as he stared into her eyes and recognized the shift in her expression from confused disorientation to genuine fear, Ari decided that he didn't want to wait. He was conflicted, but he thought that he'd actually like forcing her to experience this. Part of him wanted her to remember it, remember him—even if her memory would be colored by terror and faded by drugs. If she was semi-conscious, Ari could get everything he wanted _and_ avoid playing a part in the whitecoats' plots. And God, the way she squirmed between his legs made everything feel so much better.

So, Ari chose to be a problem. "Good morning, sweetheart," he crooned. "Or, I guess, good night. How are you feeling? Happy to be back beneath me?" He watched with wicked delight as her eyes widened, and her respiration rate became more rapid—apprehension and understanding were setting in. Ari decided to make it worse by tracing her tattoo again and looking up at her through his lashes. "I like this," he teased, stroking the little vine and using his fingernail to outline each dainty ivy leaf. "What else are you hiding?" Ivy whimpered softly, eyes fluttering closed, and her hips bucked against his—she was trying to wriggle free. Ari groaned, his own eyes shutting in satisfaction at the feeling. When they reopened, he noticed her wrists jerking weakly, sloppily against the restraints. She'd never be able to break them, and it was honestly kind of funny and a little cute that she even tried. "Hmm," Ari hummed, leaning forward again and pressing his chest against the girl's, which seemed to be rising and falling at the speed of sound. "That's no fun, is it? How are you supposed to fight back without your hands?" He was taunting her, of course, but he found that he wanted her to try to resist him. He knew she couldn't, especially not right now, but he wanted her to try just so he could deny her that sense of control. He undid one buckle, then another. Then he waited for her to resist.

She didn't move.

So he decided to piss her off, or at least terrorize her a bit more. Her face was so close to his that he turned just a bit and dragged the tip of his nose teasingly across her cheek until their mouths were centimeters apart. Ari exhaled, letting his shaky breath brush across her lips as he rutted his hips forward a little more violently than before. That did the trick—her arms trembled and lifted. One of her hands landed on his shoulder. Another found soft purchase in his semi-combed hair, messing it up further.

"That's more like it. Fight back, Ivy," he commanded. Her hands were so small and weak. She had turned her head to the side, away from him, and her eyes were pressed closed. She coughed again, and Ari ignored how pitiful it sounded. When she finished, he ducked his head enough to be even with hers and went straight for her lips—the perfect appetizer—pulling her lower one into his mouth with his teeth.

Ari's heart was racing. It felt so good to have that much power, to feel her so close. _Finally!_ She couldn't leave him.

He bit down on her lip just a little harder but released it with an amused laugh when she tried with all of her tranquilized might to yank his hair. He rocked his hips against hers again and switched his attention to her throat, ignoring her feeble attempt at hair pulling and dragging his teeth threateningly up from her exposed collarbone to the soft spot just beneath her jaw. His lips bumped into the tiny sensor disc suctioned over her carotid—no doubt the readings of her pulse would be hilariously wild right now.

Ivy whimpered and quaked and coughed again, the hand on his shoulder sliding up to his face to try and push him away. Her fingers connected with the raw skin of his cheek, and it burned, but Ari just chuckled and grabbed her hand, then snatched the other as it started to slip out of his hair. He shifted them around until he had a good grip on her wrists before slamming them roughly back onto the mattress above her head. Restraining her himself was a way bigger turn on.

She mewled again in response, and Ari felt the warm ache building below his belt, pushing back the apathy. He returned his attention to her jaw, which he outlined with his tongue. _Slow down, _he thought. _Make memories._ So he changed pace entirely and shifted both of her wrists into just one of his hands. With his newly freed hand, he cupped her cheek the same way he had earlier that day in the van, forced her chin in the correct direction, hesitated briefly, and then pressed his lips to hers for a kiss. He wasn't gentle, but her mouth was warm, and her lips were as soft and smooth as two tiny silk pillows. Ari held her in place and sank into that kiss, drinking it in like water at the end of a week spent in a desert. Her cheeks made him feel like he was in the desert, actually—she definitely had a fever, but he didn't care. A shiver raced up his spine, creating a chain reaction of goosebumps. She tasted so good, and though her mouth was unmoving and her jaw was locked shut, he could easily pretend she was kissing him back. He wanted it to be real.

Ari groaned, pressing into her. Her hands shook in his clutch, trying to tug free. Ari needed more. He rocked against her, stifling her panicked cries with his mouth. _More, _his body demanded, in complete contradiction with his mind as the latter repeated, _Slow down. _Ari pulled away, panting for air. He'd forgotten to breathe during that kiss, but as he inhaled, he could actually smell the fear in her sweat and it made him hornier. He hated himself for feeling that way, but he ignored the hate and let go of her wrists to lean back, stroking the side of her face with his knuckles as he withdrew. He dragged his hand all the way back down the centerline of her body to the hem of her shirt. Then past it. Then up to his belt. The ache was demanding. The apathy was nearly gone. Ari fumbled with the belt, but managed to unbuckle it. He undid the button and unzipped the zipper. Ivy whined in dread, aware of what would follow, and her whole body trembled beneath his. Ari couldn't stop. He was just so bad at stopping something once he'd started. He knew that personality trait would screw him over again. Just knew it. But he was committed.

He'd have to stand up to remove his pants—hers too—and to undo the ankle restraints, but her shirt…that could leave now. Ari reached for the hem again, pulled it up a little further, and then froze as Ivy's hands fluttered forward. One hand, like a little white dove, crash-landed on his thigh, holding him back. The other landed on top of his hands, right where he gripped the thin fabric of her T-shirt. It was pleading. Ari was still panting, and his body and mind and the numbness that lurked and everything else within were begging him not to slow down now, but he paused. And in that quiet pause, Ivy spoke.

"Please, stop." It came out as more of a breathy, choked whisper, followed by a short, deep cough, but the words were as sharp and clear to Ari as a needle point knife to the heart.

He'd said the same thing just a few hours ago, in the same tone, in the midst of his treatment.

He remained motionless, but his eyes darted up to Ivy's face. It was contorted in panic. Tears were leaking from her eyes, getting caught in her long lashes where they glistened before drizzling down across her cheeks. The raw patch of Ari's face started to sting more as he thought about his own tears from earlier too. "Please," she sniffled. "Don't."

Ari couldn't move. He felt tethered to her, tied to her at the hips and wherever her hands connected with his body. He couldn't look away from her either, so he watched silently, open-mouthed and utterly lost, as her tears eventually stopped. Her face relaxed and smoothed into a beautiful, damp mask. Her hair clung to her clammy skin. She passed out again.

Only when her eyes closed could Ari tear his gaze away to look back down at their hands. Her fingers were splayed across the inside of his thigh or wrapped loosely around his fists—but Ari stared at them, unseeing. He braced himself for queasiness, but instead, he just felt…numb. Numb and…confused.

* * *

Ari had begged the doctors to stop hurting him. He had screamed and cried and begged, but they'd just ignored him and continued. Why couldn't Ari do the same?

Feeling a burst of hate-filled frustration, Ari abruptly flicked Ivy's hand away from where it sat stacked on his. Then he immediately felt a pang of guilt as her whole arm flopped to the right, bounced, and dangled off the small mattress. He looked down at the little hand that remained on his thigh and decided he wasn't ready to move it. He just stared at it, stared at how tiny it looked resting on the dense muscle of his leg, noted how close it was to the loose buckle of his belt. Compulsively, Ari lifted his own hands up to look at them, maybe to compare them to hers, but was horrified to find that they were trembling.

Not just trembling, but full-on shaking—it spread to his forearms as he watched. Ari gasped, balling his hands into painfully tight fists and pressing them to his chest to stop the quivering. It didn't work. He hunched over, curving in on himself and squeezing his eyes shut. He tried to breathe evenly. He counted to ten. He reopened his eyes and peered at his hands again—they were still shaking. It didn't stop. He examined them, fingers extending and curling shut repeatedly as he grew more and more confused. "What's happening to me?" he muttered, unable to ignore how still Ivy's hand looked in comparison now. Ari felt panic and anxiety creeping back in as his heart rate elevated and his breathing started to falter. Was this shaking another strange side effect of prolonged electrocution? Was he having a panic attack?

_It seems you are experiencing the crippling weight of morality, _the Voice piped in tonelessly, like that was helpful or reassuring. _Either that or you've overdosed on your medication. _

Ari was too confused and panicked to address the Voice's sarcasm. "Morality… Why?" he questioned, trying hard to focus on breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth.

_Why? _the Voice parroted with a drawl, drawing attention to the stupidity of such an open-ended question.

"Why is this happening?" Ari was trying like crazy to control his speech, to keep it from cracking under stress or turning into a scream with irritation. He looked again from his shivering fingers to Ivy's delicate hand on his thigh. He traced the line from her hand to her peaceful face with his eyes and realized that every ounce of pleasure and passion and need he'd just felt had been completely and totally obliterated. He felt empty and achy and broken. All of his pain seeped right back in, filling him up. Every inch of him was sore and fatigued—except for his mind. His mind was just numb. "Why is this happening to _me?_" he pressed, and this time his voice did crack, pitch squeaking a little.

_Truth be told,_ _I have no idea. Perhaps you're remembering, _the Voice replied, somehow sounding almost serious now, though still not making any effort to seem reassuring. _Or you know that what you're doing is wrong. _

"Wr-wrong?" Ari couldn't wrap his mind around the word. Wrong was such an oddly specific concept to him, and it was hard to feel like you were ever doing something wrong when all you really did was take orders. "Wrong" for him was screwing up a mission by being reckless. "Wrong" was antagonizing doctors. "Wrong" was believing a treatment was unnecessary. All he wanted right now was an emotional and physical release. To feel better, or at least to feel something. To have control over a meager fraction of his life. He wanted this girl. He wanted to feel a sense of…connection. How was that wrong?

_Do you understand the concept of moral reasoning? _the Voice replied. It sounded as though it was lounging on a velveteen sofa, picking at its nails. Nonchalant. Only paying mild attention to the response.

_No, _Ari thought back, feeling a flicker of annoyance that seemed to steady his hands just a bit. The Voice was about to get up on a soapbox. _And I don't need to either. I'm a killer. I'm a pawn. Morals are a waste of my time. They make me weak. _He felt the tiniest burst of self-assured ferocity as the thoughts passed through him. But then he actually considered them and felt a little piece of himself fracture inside. His hands shook more violently.

_Moral reasoning, _the Voice continued, ignoring Ari's response and affect entirely, _is the process of determining the difference between what is right and wrong through applied logic and consideration. An important aspect of moral reasoning is that often your intentions may be valid, but the actions you take to achieve a certain outcome can still be wrong._

"You're just spewing bullshit," Ari hissed, trying to make himself angry. He tried to tap into his reserve of rage, but his voice quavered. "Tell me what the _fuck_ is wrong with me."

_Actually, I think this is a sign there's finally something right with you, _the Voice 's stomach lurched at that concept. He felt horrible. His head was ringing, and his chest felt like it was being crushed by a monster truck. He still couldn't breathe right. He felt emptier than he had all day. How could this be a good sign? _Ari, you have every right to seek control in your life. And there's nothing wrong with wanting a_…_"connection" with this girl. But you're not thinking about the morality of your actions._

The Voice so rarely spoke his name, and it made Ari cringe. He shifted his weight on Ivy's hips and looked at her face again, trying to figure out how to respond. "I don't need to think about it. I don't care if my actions are moral. She's drugged. She wouldn't even know what happened. And if she found out later, she'd get over it." He sucked in a shaky breath between every statement.

_Shouldn't she be given a choice in the matter? _

"Why should she get a choice? No one ever gives _me_ one." The words left Ari's mouth before he finished processing them, but hearing them spoken in his own inflection made them feel so much worse. His hands ceased their trembling. His respiration stopped entirely for a second. Realization hit him like a sucker-punch. "Oh, fuck me," he groaned. He wanted to scream. He kind of wanted to vomit. Instead, he pulled Ivy's shirt back down, very gently lifted her hand from his thigh, and rested it on her stomach. He dismounted her as quickly as possible, sliding sideways and swinging his long leg over her responseless form. He nearly fell over in the process, catching his balance with a painful flare of his wings. His shitty left knee twinged with pain, stiff from being bent for so long, and Ari only barely landed upright, dropping back to a sitting position on the side of the bed as his body caved inward with awful self-awareness.

_I'm no better than they are, _he thought, brain slouching towards numbness again. _Everything I'm doing is no different than what the whitecoats do to me. _They took away his choice, stripped him of his dignity, stole his memories. They made him believe whatever they believed. They did all of that on neverending repeat, and Ari had bought into it. Not only that, but he'd been indoctrinated and had applied those same essential methods to the unconscious body of a powerful, beautiful, fascinating equal.

Ari tried to suppress his vexed crying, but as he sat there with his head in his hands and his dark wings encircling him like a cocoon, confronted by his behavior, the tears started to roll. His cheek burned. He recognized the irony in his constant desire to avoid playing a part in the schemes of the whitecoats, only to realize now that his whole personality set him up to be a pawn. And he knew it. He knew what he was. He hated himself almost as much as he hated the doctors that tormented him. But how could he fix a problem that was seated at the very center of his lifestyle? Ari couldn't just change his personality on a dime, and he couldn't say "no" to the whitecoats. They'd killed him before—twice that day alone, technically—and they'd kill him over and over again until he said "yes." Dignity was null. Stolen memories couldn't be found. And so many of the indoctrinated beliefs that formed Ari's personality were conditioned. He couldn't just decondition himself. It didn't work that way.

But the worst part was that on top of not knowing how to change who he was or how he fit into Itex's grand plans, Ari didn't know if he genuinely wanted to. The mental exhaustion and anxiety he felt in that moment as he reflected so thoroughly on himself was horrendous. Why would he want to feel that way all the time? Apathy was a shitty alternative, but sometimes he liked feeling detached. He liked not caring. It was easier that way. He didn't want to change. Besides, he still wanted everything that he'd been craving from Ivy. Could he acknowledge that it might feel better if it was entirely voluntary? Yes. Did that mean a lot in the middle of the night, when she starred in all of his fantasies? No. He didn't even know her yet. Knowing her would only make things worse, but he longed to anyway. He wanted to understand who she was, and longed for anyone to care about him.

"I hate…everything," Ari's mutter was nearly a whisper, drowned out by his salty tears and embarrassingly sniffly nose. _I hate myself._

_Then fix it, _the Voice asserted, ignoring Ari's thoughts and focusing on his words.

"I can't."

_You can. _

"I'm too tired to—"

_It's a choice, Ari. A conscious choice. You want to be better than the whitecoats? You have to work for that. You can tell yourself that this, what your life is right now, is easier—but sometimes the things you have to work for are better. _

"Nothing ever gets better, no matter how hard I work." It felt true. And he was so, so tired.

_You are being pessimistic. _

"Oh, sorry, let me just turn my positive attitude back on."

_Ari, the hardest part of this is getting started. It's all about self-direction. When you're presented with a choice, you need to look to your feelings and sense of responsibility for guidance._

"No, thanks," Ari murmured. The Voice ignored him completely.

_And you need to think about the consequences of your actions—both the right and wrong ones. Weigh your choices wisely, every day, and it'll become a pattern. It'll hardly feel like work._

"Just like that, huh?" Ari's throat burned. He didn't have the energy for this. He wanted to be in bed. He wished he could teleport and wipe his own memory all at once. He didn't want to work or think or self-direct or change. Ari didn't understand why the Voice thought that morality would fill the cavernous hole inside him, or help him overcome a couple of decades of conditioning, or make him hate himself a little less. He didn't think being moral would make Ivy less attractive.

_Just like that. _The Voice's toneless tone seemed gentle now, like it thought it'd just blown Ari's mind wide open and was trying not to overwhelm him further. But as much as Ari wanted to be cared for, he also hated being coddled, so he shrugged off the feeling that the Voice left him with and sighed.

Ari sat in silence on the edge of the bed for a long time before he realized that his lower back was pressed against Ivy's thigh. She was so warm. For half a heartbeat, Ari considered just falling to the left, letting himself curl up alongside her. He could sleep there, on that sliver of bed.

Maybe that way, he wouldn't feel quite as lonely. Wouldn't feel quite as detached and empty and numb.

But he turned a fraction and looked at her again as he ran out of tears. Her bruised face, still so beautiful, looked serene. He would not ruin that.

Instead of falling sideways, Ari made a moral choice and pushed down on his knees to lift himself up. His legs were shaky, but he turned and faced the narrow bed again. Only then did he realize that he'd never done up his pants or buckled his belt. Feeling another wave of guilt, he quickly corrected that mistake.

Then he reached for and undid the buckle on Ivy's left ankle. He wanted her to be comfortable, but he allowed one restraint to remain in place so she couldn't roll off the bed in the night. He glanced at her face once more, just to be sure she was still unconscious, and then carefully, so carefully slid an arm under her neck and shoulders. Then he slid another under her hips. She was so small and so…tender. Ari fought against the part of his brain that egged him on as he touched her, encouraging him to dive back in where he'd left off—even though a little piece of him wanted to get carried away by that mentality. _You could finish. She would never know. _He chomped down hard on his inner-cheek at the thought. Instead, he just lifted her off the bed as gently as he could manage and then rolled her slowly back onto it, resting her on her right side. Her wings—such pretty wings, unlike his—loosened and collapsed onto the bed beside her. Ari could see that the right wing had been force-folded and bandaged shut to help it heal faster. He frowned, feeling another pang of guilt. It would be okay. Ari's prowling eyes slid to her back, which was bare and exposed intermittently from her neck to her waistband. The bows that held the flimsy shirt closed were very poorly tied—he indulged in a fantasy of undoing them one by one. He could already see where the wings merged with her flesh. Flawless. Ari stuffed his hands in his pockets to resist stroking the strong back muscles and smooth skin that peeked out. Then he pulled his hands back out of his pocket, only for a moment, and tugged the fleece blanket back over her body, shielding her from his desires.

Ari was about to leave when he paused to sneak a last look at her face. It was still serene, but a chunk of that coppery hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. Ari couldn't resist. With trembling fingers, he reached out and carefully brushed the hair away, smoothing it back into the rest of her fiery mane. He wrapped it behind her ear, fingernails dragging delicately along her scalp. And then Ivy sighed—a slow sigh of comfort and calm.

For just a moment, the numbness vanished.

Ari slunk out of the room, raw eyes burning in the bright light of the hall, and made sure the door was latched and locked tightly behind him. He stumbled out of the suite and noted a minor miracle—the other residents of that housing floor were all asleep or away. Ari needed to be alone. He could feel the stains of tears on his cheeks. He didn't want to talk to anyone else right now—maybe ever again.

He made it onto the elevator, smacked the button for his floor, and slumped against the wall the same way as before. His body was back to hurting again—every inch of it. But he tried to remember that the physical pain was relatively temporary. He tried not to think too much about anything else. He tried not to hate himself, or wish he'd done things differently. The returning numbness wasn't better than the emotions and thoughts that Ari shoved down, but at least it was quiet. He picked a point on the opposite wall and stared at it blankly until the elevator dinged. Ari trudged back to his room, where he promptly plopped on the edge of his bed, unthinking, unfeeling, and undid the laces of his boots. He kicked the boots off and just sat there, staring at the grey carpet beneath his feet.

_Sometimes the things you have to work for are better. _The Voice's message reverberated in his head. The thought alone was exhausting. If Ari had been tired before visiting Ivy, he was nearly dead now, but now he was also conflicted. Everything he'd wanted from Ivy, he still wanted. Everything he'd planned to do to her…it still appealed. Ari still craved that control, still longed for that release and that "connection," though he knew he'd thrown that word out to mask his crass desires. But now he hated himself for being so willing to stoop to the level of the whitecoats to get what he wanted. He would have to find another way. Maybe a way that bordered on being…moral. Maybe he'd work for it—but not too hard. He'd only do the bare minimum. But maybe he would get more out of the experience that way, make more memories.

The numbness that had faded very briefly in the face of Ivy's soft sigh clawed its way back into place in Ari's chest, temporarily eclipsing his exhaustion. And self-loathing. And frustration. And anxiety. And apathy. He gave in and let his body crumple. He dragged his feet up onto the bed as he fell sideways, and stretched his wings out behind him. His body was a perfect mirror to how he'd positioned Ivy. Ari sighed in resignation again.

_Just another day. _

He closed his eyes and tried to drift, but the sound of Ivy's peaceful sigh replayed on repeat in his mind. So Ari lay there on his side, fully-clothed, and never slept a wink.


End file.
